Home
by SgtMac
Summary: A portal is accidentally opened which brings Experiment 626 - Stitch - through, and he ends up as Regina's houseguest all while she's trying to navigate a nasty illness and an ever evolving relationship with Emma. SQ. Semi-crackery and kind of sweet in its own weird funny way.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I apologize for this. This is a 4-part Tumblr prompt that I've been getting nudged with, and so because I myself have been fairly sick for the last month, I figured sure okay.

Which means that the below is cracky and weird, and yet also kind of tender and sweet. If you're looking for funny, it's probably not here, but I do think you'll find a few chuckles and hopefully a couple awwws.

Warnings: Some language, mild violence, a sick Evil Queen and crackery.

* * *

The former Evil Queen and current Mayor of Storybrooke is half-unconscious lying face down on the couch in her office at the Mansion when she feels the buzzing of her cell which she'd forgotten to remove from the pocket of her jacket before she'd slumped down to take a "quick nap just to regain her energy".

A weary glance at her illuminated cell phone screen shows Emma's name there, and she's more than a little tempted to let it go to voicemail because quite frankly right now, she's just not in the mood for another argument – even a somewhat amusing and even interesting one as most of theirs have been as of late - with the infuriating and all-too intriguing blonde woman, but ultimately because the call is coming from the sheriff's station instead of Emma's personal line, Regina decides that she might as well answer it.

Because she's turning over a new life, and she's trying to be cooperative.

But good God does she hate being on her best behavior. Mostly, it means that she's just a little more polite than usual to the idiots around town, but every now and again it almost means having to do something truly absurd - like work a carnival booth at the Miner's Day Festival - just to show everyone that she can play nice and fit in if she tries.

She grits her teeth and says oh so sweetly, "Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

There's an all-too amused laugh from the other side, and Regina reminds herself that she's no longer using magic for nefarious selfish reasons and that electrocuting Emma across cellular lines would be a very bad thing.

Snow White would whine and Henry wouldn't approve of it for sure.

It'd be so very deserved, though.

She sighs.

"Miss Swan," Regina growls out, making sure that she sounds as annoyed as is humanly possible. "What exactly is it that you want or did you decide that you missed your teenage delinquent years and decided to crank call me just for the sheer fun of it?" She's been feeling like she'd gotten hit by a bus for the last couple of days or so (and it's been getting progressively worse, probably thanks to her refusal to actually slow down and really rest more than working from home), and she's in no mood for the sheer frivolousness and indulgent childish absurdity of this town.

Or Emma Swan for that matter.

Actually, she muses, those things are rather one and the same.

"It's so good to hear your voice as well, Regina. I missed you." She almost sounds like she means it.

"Yes, I'm sure you did," Regina replies drolly. "What do you want?"

"All right, I need your help," Emma tells her. Behind her, Regina thinks that she hears the sound of yelling and something babbling nonsensically. Oh and it sounds like Mary Margaret just screamed at someone to "put that down right now".

"With what?" She sits up fully. "Is Henry all right? What's going on over there? Are your idiot parents fighting again? Actually, that would almost be enjoyable to see considering how nauseatingly well they get along."

"Relax, Henry is just fine. He should be at school right about now, and no, this doesn't have anything to do with my parents fighting. Sorry, but you're going to have to keep cashing in your wish upon a star coupons for them to break up," Emma cracks before suddenly letting out something that sounds like a short sharp cry of surprise. Once again, Mary Margaret can be heard in the background, only this time she's ordering someone to stay out of the coffee pot and she's insisting that drinking that much caffeine can't possibly be good for whomever it that she's yelling at.

"So, then what is this all about then?" Regina demands impatiently as she tries to block out the strange almost inexplicable sounds in the background. "I'm quite busy and I don't have time for -"

"It's about something your old buddy Jefferson did," Emma interrupts. She's the only one who would dare.

But because Emma's words catch her interest, the former queen lets it go, her eyebrow lifting upwards. "Well first off, Jefferson is hardly an 'old buddy' of mine, and second, there's no way that I'm helping that lunatic in any way."

"You're misunderstanding what I'm saying, Regina; I'm not asking you to help Jefferson with anything because I know you wouldn't. I'm asking you to help me because of something Jefferson did with that stupid hat of his," Emma grumbles out.

"His hat. Let me guess, he tried to open up a portal back to the Enchanted Forest again," Regina suggests as she yanks out a tissue and wipes delicately at her sore nose. Her hand slides up to her forehead, and she can feel the heat radiating off it. Which is all just annoying because she simply doesn't have time for any of this. She hasn't been truly sick in over three decades and she has no intention of allowing something as pedestrian as a cold or the flu take her down now.

"Hole in one," Emma confirms. Behind her, something crashes and then there's the sound of Mary Margaret pleading whoever is having the fit to just be calm and try to be good.

"Why?"

"Why did he try to open a portal? Something about trying to go back in time and change things."

Regina scoffs loudly, rolling her eyes and allowing herself a bit of open derision for her former friend who has completely gone around every bend on the track as of late. "Even he knows that's not possible."

"Yeah, well he's not exactly what I'd call a shining symbol of sanity these days," Emma replies, her tone dry. "Grace wanting to continue having a relationship with her cursed parents seems to have unhinged him a bit."

"He's always been unhinged," Regina corrects, her tone dry and without humor as she thinks back to a trip she'd taken with him through the looking glass. "Though I will admit that his rather long and somewhat eventful stay in Wonderland didn't exactly do him any favors. Still, I fail to see what concern his silliness is of mine. Regardless of my history with him, he failed at something that forty years ago he would have been the very first person to tell me was impossible."

"Yeah, but here's the thing, Regina: he did actually manage to open up a portal. It just wasn't to the Enchanted Forest or to the past. At least I don't think it's the past." Emma voice gets muffled and distant then as she presumably turns away from the phone and yells, "Hey, those are metal bars you're chewing on, and I need those to stay where they are. If they don't, things and people and furry little hell demons like yourself don't stay inside like they should."

Regina taps her nails against the edge of the couch, frowning as she tries to understand what the sheriff is talking about. Furry little hell demon? What? "Emma? What is going on there? Who are you yelling at? Who is your mother scolding?"

"Sorry," the sheriff answers after a moment, sounding both incredibly amused and completely irritated. "Look, I promise you that you'll understand everything when you see it…him. When you meet our new friend here."

Swaying a bit dizzily beneath the weight of bone-deep exhaustion and far too many cold pills that aren't really helping her like they should, Regina stands up and starts looking around for the entirely too high of heels that she'd kicked off after coming home sick a few days earlier. She'd practically passed out on the couch that night, and well, it hadn't been pretty.

"Fine, but explain this much for me at least: where did the portal Jefferson opened go to?" Regina prompts as she finally spots the heels. It's becoming abundantly clear that she's going to have to intervene on behalf of this town once again. How very ironic how often they need her to save their asses considering much they hate her. "And what came back?"

"It was to alternate version of this world, apparently," Emma explains as something loud again crashes behind her. "One where some of the cartoon characters that we know of here actually exist there. One group of them specifically."

Regina can't help herself from breaking out in a wide - perhaps entirely too wide - smile of malicious amusement. "Oh please tell me that it was the Roadrunner that came back over. I have so many ways that I can cook that little –"

Emma snorts in amusement. "Disturbing, Madam Mayor."

"Right. Yes. Apologies," Regina drawls as she reaches for a glass of water and just barely manages to stop herself from another dry hacking fit. Her stomach rolls as she moves too quickly, and she wonders if she's about to end up in the bathroom again. Thankfully, her belly settles after a moment and she's able to focus her eyes on the far wall of the room to steady herself and keep everything from spinning like she's on some kind of obnoxious carnival ride.

"Worst apology ever and still damned disturbing. By the way, are you okay over there? You sound awful."

"Yes, I'm fine. Just swallowed some water the wrong way," she lies. She knows that it's pointless to try to hide her illness because Emma will surely notice it when she shows up at the sheriff's station, but for now at least, she doesn't wish to humor the annoying worry sure to come at her (most of which she fears will actually be genuine which opens up a whole other front of worries for her) from the blonde. "So whom are we talking about exactly? Which cartoon character?"

"Can I say first how weirded out I am that you're not at all weirded out?"

Regina chuckles. "That's because I understand the concept of alternative worlds and universes. Every story that you think is just a simple child's story, Emma, actually happened somewhere. It's real, just perhaps not on this Earth."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. You ever see the movie _Lilo and Stitch_?"

Regina frowns for a moment as she turns all of the knowledge and experience that she'd gained with Jefferson during their portal jumping days over in her admittedly foggy brain. After a moment, she sighs loudly in resignation, "No, I can't say that I have. Who is it that's here? Lilo or Stitch? And more importantly, what are they?"

There's another loud crash, and then Emma laughs and it sounds like she's completely amused. Which, Regina thinks sourly, can only be bad for her. "There goes the coffeemaker," she comments.

"What?"

"Stitch is the one that's here, Regina, and I really think that you need to come over here and see him for yourself."

"All right. Should I be prepared to use magic?" the former queen asks, unable to hide a tone thick with both excitement and trepidation. She's been trying so very hard to only use her powers when she absolutely needs to (and only for official town business), but she'd be lying if she were to claim that she doesn't feel a surge of something curious and a bit dark whenever the opportunity to let loose and feel the energy within her arises again.

Though, considering how sickly and out of it she feels right now, she can't help but wonder if her magic would do something unbelievably goofy like turn everyone into red-assed monkeys capable of singing opera. As amusing as that would initially be, it wouldn't be good in the long run. Mostly because Emma would never let her live it down.

"Hopefully not, but well he's a fluffy little bastard so you never know."

"Fluffy little bastard," Regina repeats. "I'm on my way."

"Good. Oh and hey, Regina, some of his equally fluffy brothers and sisters came through Jefferson's hat, too, so just do me a favor and be on the look out for them and if you see anything distinctly weird – and I mean weirder than the Storybrooke version of the word – don't hit it with your car. Please?"

"I value my car," Regina reminds her.

"Yeah, I know, but just the same, they can be kind of…startling. Some of them have some odd abilities, and I don't want them – or you – hurt, okay? So please, just humor me for once?"

"If you insist."

"Also, don't flip out if one of them tries to talk to you. They…can…talk."

"Why would I…why would they –"

"Just get over to the station and you'll see. You'll understand everything then, I promise."

"Fine. Ten minutes."

"Good. And thank you." There's a softness to her voice when she says this, and it makes something warm spark in the middle of Regina's choice. She decides to dismiss this as being simple whatever virus this is causing her discomfort.

All the while ignoring that Emma has been making her feel like this often since returning from Neverland.

"Of course. Do you need me to bring a broom?" Regina asks as another crash sounds loudly in the background, and this time she thinks she hears David joining his wife in pleading their guest not to break anything else.

"That would be very much appreciated," Emma chuckles.

"Very well," Regina answers, and then quickly ends the call with a click. She slips her heels back on, pulls her thickest wool coat around her shuddering chill-struck frame, and then heads out the door.

* * *

She's sitting in her car, about to start up the engine when the idea of how to know more about whatever situation she's heading into comes to her. She pulls her cell phone back out, coughs twice, takes a deep breath as a wave of dizziness skips through her body, and then once it finally passes, dials her son's number.

He answers on the third ring. "Mom?" Henry says, seeming surprised. "Is everything all right?"

"It is, dear. And I'm sorry for interrupting you in the middle of your school day, but I was hoping that maybe you could help me with something. If you're busy, it can certainly wait, though."

"No, I'm not busy. It's lunch time, and it's not...mom, it's never a bother," he tells her, and she feels her heart soften into something that just a bit like melted marshmallow, "So what's up?"

"Have you ever seen the film _Lilo and Stitch_?"

He laughs. "Oh."

"Oh, what?" her eyebrow lifting up, not that Henry can see it, anyway.

"You've heard about him."

"So have you, I see."

"Through Grace because it was her dad who opened the portal up, but yeah; word around is that the sheriff's department has been trying to track down him and his siblings all morning. Did you just find out about it?"

She's about to respond but ends up coughing for about thirty seconds straight instead, and she's pretty sure she just coughed up her right lung.

_Gross_.

"Mom, are you sick?" Henry asks, sounding so much older than twelve. She can almost see his narrowed eyes.

"It's just a little cough," Regina assures him, getting more and more annoyed by this ridiculous bug that she's picked up by the moment. "I took the day off to try to shake the rest of it, but don't worry, dear, I'm fine."

He bulldozes – in typical Emma Swan style – right past her assurances. "You didn't tell me you weren't feeling good," he states. "Why not? And how long has this been going on?"

"I didn't tell you because it's just a silly cold," she answers, and then doesn't add that if he still lived at the house full time, he would have known that she's been fighting this bug for the last few days. It's one thing for the rest of this town – and Emma - to buy that she's just been working from home for the quiet of it, but her son should have been aware of such a thing, she thinks, not quite able to hide a hint of bitterness within. She knows such thoughts aren't fair, though, because things have been good as of late between she and Emma in regards to Henry and the sharing of him.

Better than good.

Ever since Neverland, their interactions with each other have almost been effortless. Sure, they still argue constantly, but rarely about Henry and almost never about anything that matters.

But she's not feeling well right now, and trying to be fair isn't something she much cares about. It's time like this when she misses her son dearly, and it's damned hard to hide it.

"You should have told me," he scolds, and okay, so that helps a little.

"I'm sorry," she says softly because their newly healing relationship is still so very young and fresh, and she doesn't want to risk damaging it with new walls. She doesn't want to grab harder than she needs to. "But I am okay. Emma just called to ask me to come down to the station, and I was hoping that you could clue me in before I got there."

"He's fluffy," Henry says with a laugh. "Really fluffy. And cute."

"Emma said that, too. So why does that not sound like a good thing?"

"Tonight," he tells her, "I'll bring over the movie. You'll see."

"That…I think that's a very good idea," she says and she doesn't tell him just how much his easy and uncomplicated offer to spend time just watching a movie with her fills her with joy. Though he was due over anyway tonight to start his week on with her (the custody arrangement that she and Emma had worked out without any assistance from anyone else is one week on and off for both of them) that he wants to do something with her instead of just being there almost completely wipes away the bitterness that had been there just a few moments earlier. It makes everything so much...warmer.

"Cool," he says. Like he has no idea of the internal monologue she has going on. He likely doesn't.

"I should go," Regina says reluctantly. "They're expecting me over at the station, and it sounded rather bad down there."

"It probably is," he laughs. And then, "Hey, mom."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, you know that, right?"

She closes her eyes. "Oh, Henry, I love you, too."

"I know," he tells her. There's a pause and then he says, "He's probably going to tick you off because he's kind of crazy, but not frying Stitch, okay? He's away from his home and he's just a little bit misunderstood."

"Misunderstood," she snorts (which ends up turning into another harsh coughing fit into her elbow), because really, what would a cartoon character know about being misunderstood? Then again, she muses, she's still trying to find ways not to rage every time she accidentally happens upon the Disney version of Snow White and the Evil Queen's story.

Misunderstood indeed.

"He is," Henry assures her. "Very much so. He's a long way from home and I'm sure he's just kind of sad about being away from his family. I know that I was when I was in his place."

"Oh, honey."

"But I'm fine now. So promise me you won't use him for target practice."

She pauses a moment.

"Mom, promise me." She can hear the teasing in his voice, and it's that which relaxes her enough to understand he's not thinking the worst of her. It never fails to amaze her just how much things have changed for the better between them.

"Fine. I won't fry this Stitch…thing," she assures him.

"Thank you," he says. "I'll see you later."

* * *

The first thing that Regina notices when she gets to the Storybrooke Sheriff's Station is that the front door leading inside has deep fingernail grooves across the painted surface of it. Actually, they're more like claw marks, and they look like someone – or something – had been dragged off of the door by force.

The next thing that she sees is that Emma's patrol car - which is parked haphazardly on the curb (typical, she thinks, the woman parks like she's blind) - looks like something took a massive bite out of one of the wheels of it.

She sighs and steps inside, her heels clicking against the polished floor. That it's taking every bit of concentration she has to stay on her feet and not stumble and break an ankle is a secret that she will happily take with her to the grave.

But then, just as she's thinking this, she hears a loud screeched out, "Regina, duck!"

She doesn't move an inch, though, because it's Snow White that's calling to her, and what does she have to be scared of. Instead, her hands glow with fire and she snaps around as if to find out what it is that's attacking her.

What she gets instead is the feel of something rather solid colliding with her back, and knocking her face-first to the cold floor of the hallway before it stands atop her back, its claws digging into the rough wool of her jacket.

"Get off of me," Regina hisses as she struggles to get leverage back.

"No!" it calls out from where it's perched on her. "Stitch doesn't want to."

"Stitch, now come on, sweetie, you have to get off of Regina, okay?" Mary Margaret says softly, soothingly, as she approaches. "Please?" She puts a hand out towards him, like she's imploring him to step away from certain death.

"What is going on here?" Regina growls as she snaps around. The creature atop her – bright blue, impossibly furry and possessing four arms instead of two – spins with her and ends up holding onto the wall just to the side of her. He looks vaguely like a rabid dog with long floppy ears, Regina thinks as she stares at him.

"Regina, meet Stitch," Mary Margaret says. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He's about to not be," she growls as she steps towards him. "Do you know who I am, little creature?" she holds up her hand and then snaps it so that fire forms in the palm of it.

And he spits at her. Tongue out and wagging and saliva flying everywhere.

Fucking Mary Margaret laughs. And then puts her hand over her mouth.

Regina side-eyes her like she's considering throwing the fireball at her, but then looks back at the creature. "I'm Stitch," he says, his voice an odd garble. "Stitch wants to go home. You're not home."

"No, I'm not home, and you have very poor manners," Regina retorts. "But don't worry, dear, I can train those out of you."

And then she smirks.

From somewhere behind them, Emma cackles. She steps into the hallway looking like she's gone through something of a war, but she's finding all of this too funny to be concerned with the fact that there are deep scratch marks and slobber drops up and down her red jacket. Actually, Regina thinks spitefully, those additions might be an improvement of sorts.

"Regina, tell me you are not seriously scolding a space alien from another world about his manners?" Emma asks with a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. "Because for what it's worth, my mother already tried that, and that's why I'll be submitting a request for repairs for…well, everything tonight."

Regina groans and then turns her attention back to the blue creature, which is still perched on the wall watching her. "Do you know where you are?"

He shakes his head, his eyes on the fireball in her hand.

"Do you know why you're here?" She demands, waving it at him.

He growls and then does something that looks almost like a petulant pout.

And then he crosses his arms - all four of them - around his chest and sticks out his tongue at her again, like she's somehow the bad guy here. He completes this absurdity by turning his head away from her like a small child would.

She wonders if she's allowed to spank a space alien from another planet.

"Maybe try talking to him without the fire," Mary Margaret suggests, her voice passive in a way that makes Regina want to light her up. For the moment, she sounds far more like the meek woman from the curse than the bandit from the woods.

"Oh what the hell would you know?" Regina snaps.

"School teacher and not a tyrannical despot," Emma says. She then quickly applies a smile to her face to soften words that weren't actually meant to hurt, but all she gets in return is an annoyed glare from the former queen.

Which oddly enough highlights just how far they've come with each other.

Nowadays, it's almost normal to tease each other.

Ugh.

"Fine, but if it attacks me again, I'm turning it in a shish-ka-bob." Regina replies. She whirls her hand around dramatically, and then the flame extinguishes. Once it's out, she turns her attention back to the creature whose eyes have never left her. "How about we start again," she suggests to him, using her best politician's voice. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shakes his head once more, and then scoots down on the wall like he's considering approaching her, but hasn't quite made up his mind yet. He tilts his head, and it almost makes her dizzy to even look at him like this.

"Your name is Stitch?"

"My name is Stitch," he agrees, eyeing her warily.

"My name is Regina. And don't worry, I won't light you on fire. For now."

"Regina," he repeats, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, Regina. I'm the Mayor of this town you're in. Storybrooke."

"Mayor?"

"Boss. I tell everyone here what to do. Which includes you."

Emma snorts in response to that, and Regina reminds herself that Henry wouldn't approve of her lighting his birth mother on fire. It takes a few deep breaths, a couple of ten counts and a self-reminder (a pep talk, really) that she's trying to be a better person, and really, she does kind of like Emma these days so her being charred would almost be unfortunate.

"The laughing idiot in the ugly jacket is Emma," Regina continues sweetly. "And the fool that's been chasing you around is Mary Margaret." To Emma she asks, "Where did your father go? Did he lock himself up in a cell?"

"No," Emma answers. "He's out chasing the other ones around."

"Oh, right," Regina turns her attention back to Stitch. "You have brother and sisters who came here with you, too, yes?"

"Cousins," he corrects. "They're my cousins. We're far from home."

"I know. And this Lilo person is…"

"My family. My best friend. Yeah. Yeah."

"Well, I suppose then you'd like to get back to her, yes?"

He nods, his bright eyes hopeful in a way that rather hurts her right in the middle of her chest. Because she understands.

She does. Far more than she might like to admit.

"Well then, I'm quite certain that we can help you with that but in order for us to do that, I need you to try and behave yourself like a good boy. Which means no more destroying city property and no more eating coffeemakers or climbing on things that you shouldn't be on. And absolutely no more caffeine. Can you do that, Stitch?" she asks as she steps closer to him. It's a decidedly risky move because this furry little thing might be rabid or insane and it could bite her, but there's something about the way that everyone is acting that tells her that little homesick creature isn't a threat.

"Stitch be good," he says. "As long as Regina be good."

"Yes, well, one thing at a time," Regina states. "So let's start with how you're going to help Emma and Mary Margaret clean up the station and the mess you've made, and then we can discuss getting you home."

He considers this for a moment, and then says, "Stitch hungry."

"And what would Stitch like to eat?"

"Ice cream," he says as his ear bends forward and picks at his nose.

"Don't do that," Regina scolds.

He scowls at her, then takes one more swipe before pulling back.

Emma laughs. "Mint chocolate chip?"

He nods his head eagerly.

"I'll go find some and bring it back," Mary Margaret offers up entirely too eagerly, and then before anyone can stop her, she turns and beats a hasty retreat down the hallway, her shoes beating an uneven rhythm as she half-runs.

"You should eat something healthier than that," Regina suggests as she turns away from Mary Margaret's bizarrely running form. "Then she wrinkles her nose. "Though I suppose we wouldn't know where to begin."

"He'll be fine, Regina," Emma says. "Hopefully Stitch will only be with us for a few days until we can reverse whatever Jefferson did and send him and his cousins home. I don't think a little bit of ice cream will hurt him until then."

"Spoken like the person who feeds our son French fries for breakfast."

"Spoken like the person who looks like death warmed over," Emma retorts.

"I beg your pardon."

"So, since when does working from home mean being filthy sick?" Emma queries, her eyes sweeping over Regina's form. The older woman is far paler than usual, and there's a light glean of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes are red, puffy and unfocused and her voice sounds deeper and more hoarse than usual. All of which suggests a nasty cold or maybe even – considering Regina's inexperience with the illnesses of this world - something a little bit worse than that.

It's damned hard to tell what Regina is ill with, though because so something tells Emma that the former queen isn't exactly patient of the year when she gets sick, and she's not going to go just stay down and allow herself to be diagnosed.

Or get better, for that matter.

"How drugged up are you right now?" Emma asks.

"Who said that I am?"

"Just tell me this: are you drugged up enough that part of you is wondering if all of this is just some wacky hallucination."

"Is it?" Regina asks almost hopefully.

"No. Sorry. You really did almost just light a little space alien on fire."

"Damn," she sighs. "And I'm quite fine. You're wrong. As usual."

"Of course I am. You still look like shit."

"And you're quite the charmer. Pun intended in the worst of ways."

"No fighting," Stitch says suddenly, and that's when they realize that he's crawled down the wall and has put himself between the two women, an arm out in each of their directions.

"We're not fighting," Emma assures him with a smirk.

"We were."

"Regina."

She rolls her eyes at the sheriff. "We're fine, Stitch. We were just…talking. Miss Swan - Emma - and I have a complicated…."

"Friendship," Emma suggests, and Regina thinks she chose that particular word just to annoy her. And, of course, because it's actually accurate in ways Regina doesn't want to think about, it totally works and she glares back at the sheriff.

He narrows his eyes at the two of them. "You are family," he tells them, seeming so serious and then sweeps his paw back and forth between the two women. "Family always loves each other even when they fight. Yeah."

"Is he your mother in dog form?" Regina asks.

Emma laughs and she shouldn't because good Lord that was rude.

But also kind of funny.

"Only if my mother eats the coffeemaker. Has she ever?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Regina grunts. Her eyes turn back towards Stitch who continues to watch her. "After he finishes cleaning up – and you will finish cleaning up, young man – then what we do with him?" She glances over Emma's shoulders back towards the cells. "I suppose we could put him in there." She frowns when she says this.

"I'd rather not," Emma protests. "The cell probably won't hold him, anyway, and I don't really think he's all that much of a threat that he requires it. His cousins are kind of a nuisance because they do stupid shit like fire electricity and try to drown people just for the hell of it, but there's only about five or six of them roaming around town, and mostly they just want the exact same thing that he wants. Mint chocolate chip ice cream and to get back home."

"Which is all very well and fine, but until we can get Jefferson to reverse his math and figure out how to return them to their own world, what are we going to do about them while they're here with us?"

"I guess we can foster them for a few days."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, as in have them stay with someone."

"I know what the word foster means. And that's the most –"

"-Awesome plan ever," Henry chirps as he enters the hallway, his green eyes bright with excitement. He comes up behind both of his mothers and puts a hand lightly on each of their backs like he's trying to draw them together. Both of the women look at him like they know what he's up to, but neither one of them is going to call him out on it.

"You should be at school," Regina scolds, but she doesn't resist even a little bit when he squeezes his arm around her.

"I know, but I just really wanted to see him." He breaks away from his mothers, then, and approaches Stitch and kneels down so that they're just about at eye level. "Hey, Stitch, I'm Henry." He holds out his hand to the little creature.

"Henry," Stitch repeats, taking his hand "Hi Henry, I'm Stitch. Good to meet you." He then adds in what can only be described as a wide cheesy toothy grin which is probably supposed to be friendly, but it's actually a bit terrifying.

"You, too." He looks up at Regina. "Mom, how about you keep him."

Regina thinks that she must look like a cartoon character herself, because her eyes pop wide open – and even out like someone would in an Acme cartoon – in surprise. "What?"

"I heard what you were saying; you need someone for him to stay for a bit."

"Oh this is going to be good," Emma says with a grin.

Regina shoots the sheriff a dirty look and then returns her attention back to Henry, "Yes, dear," she says, her voice low and understanding, "But that doesn't mean it should be with me. I have a lot on my plate, and I just don't think that taking care of a…of Stitch, is in anyone's best interests. Especially not his. Or mine. Or anyone's. Henry, it's a bad idea."

"I don't think it is. Emma?"

"I actually think, Madam Mayor, that it's the best idea ever." She turns towards Stitch who has been watching this whole conversation with keen intelligence. "Stitch, what do you think? You want to stay with Regina for a few days."

"Stitch likes Regina. Yeah."

"Come on, Mom," Henry pleads, reminding her of a child at a toy shop asking for the newest shiniest truck there. "It'll be good for you. And since tonight starts my week with you, I'll be able to help out. It'll be fun for us."

"Yeah, Madam Mayor, come on; it'll be fun. For everyone."

"I will get you back for this," Regina replies sweetly. And if her eyes weren't watering, and her nose wasn't starting to run, it might be a threat worth taking seriously, but a sickly Evil Queen is pretty hard to get scared of.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll try."

"No try, do," Stitch opines.

"What he said," Regina confirms with a sharp nod that just about make her throw up. Then she sighs again. "Fine, but just for a few days. And in the meanwhile, I expect you to be sitting on Jefferson."

"Count on it," Emma agrees before reaching out to grip Regina's forearm lightly in what's probably supposed to be a show of support meant to inspire confidence, but there's something about the whole touching thing between them these days so after a moment of the two of them just staring at each other like they each want to say something, Emma backs away.

"Fine. Stitch, clean up and then…then I suppose we can head back to the house; Mary Margaret did say that she'd bring by your ice cream once she managed to track it down. Which could take forever." She shakes her head like she can't quite believe she's saying this. She wonders again if maybe she is actually high from all of the medication that she's on.

But Henry and Emma are both grinning at her like they couldn't be happier if they tried to be, and her nose is twitching and her head hurts, and she knows that the cold meds she's been back-to-backing are wearing off.

Which means that this is all very real.

Which means that she has a houseguest.

Experiment 626.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** At this point, if you're actually reading this insanity, you know what you're in for. Also, thank you.

**Warnings:** Mild language, comic mischief and enough saccharine to make you need a dentist.

* * *

As it turns out, Stitch is less like a dog and more like a child, Regina realizes. He's curious and inquisitive, mischievous and excitable and he never stays in the same place for longer than a few seconds. His large eyes track her movements constantly, and even when there's a thick pane of glass separating her from him, the little blue creature is watching her.

"I think you have yourself a friend, Madam Mayor," Emma notes as she flips through the piles of paperwork that are sitting on her desk. Most of it involves the chaos that Stitch's cousins have doled out on the town, and Emma knows that cleaning up process is going to be a pain in the ass, but for now, she stays amused because there's no current danger.

"Just what I need," Regina drawls. "What am I waiting on, Sheriff?" She smiles slightly when she says this because they're well past calling each other by their official titles these days. That they're doing it now is just to annoy each other, but Regina finds a weird need to remind Emma of this.

Which clearly has everything to do with how sick she is, because _God_.

"Oh, I figured that you would want to start seeing the damage reports from today's excitement," Emma replies as she lifts up the thick folder. "Unless you think that you'll be too busy to worry about official town business."

Regina scoffs, "Unlike you, I am capable of watching a child and working at the same time or do I need to again remind you once again, my dear, that I raised Henry all by myself for the first ten years of his life." She's glaring at Emma when she says this, and her words might have had the hard bite that she'd intended them to have – because that little bitterness is still within her whether she wants it to be or not - if not for the fact that she immediately follows them up with a painful sounding coughing fit that completely doubles her over and makes her want to crawl up in a corner and die.

A coughing fit which Emma watches with a knowing smirk.

"Better?" she asks once Regina has straightened up again.

"I'm fine," Regina snaps, and then she reaches out and grabs the folder from her. "I thank you for…well, I'm sure there's something I thank you for."

Emma laughs. "Who knew that you could be even crankier than usual?"

"You're sending me back to my quite orderly house with a destructive alien that is, at the moment, showing our son – a child that I worked tirelessly to teach good manners to - how to pick his nose with his own tongue. What exactly are you expecting from me? My best smile? Perhaps a banquet?"

"You have a best smile?"

Regina flashes her the wide white-toothed one that usually precedes her trying to rip someone's face off. It's utterly terrifying, Emma has to admit.

The sheriff shrugs her shoulders and shuffles her feet a bit. "Just try to remember, Regina, he's very far from home. Try to be empathetic. You do have that setting in your software somewhere, don't you? Down deep?"

"Very deep," Regina grouses, ignoring the rest of the comment. She knows that Emma is trying to rile her up – it's kind of what they do these days, even more than they once had – but she's far too tired to rise to the bait.

"Try to be patient with him," Emma urges. "He likes you."

"That's wonderful. He's licking his own…well, that's just disgusting."

Emma laughs. "I'll drop by later tonight."

Regina's eyebrow shoots up. "Why?"

"To check in on him."

"Why? Do you not think that I can handle him?" Regina demands, sounding almost insulted. She really doesn't want to take Stitch home because she has a bad feeling about what he could do in her house, but it absolutely galls her to think that the sheriff believes she can't deal with the fuzzball.

Of course she can.

She's the fucking Evil Queen.

She straightens up, tightens her shoulders and looks right at Emma.

And then doubles over into another ferocious coughing fit that just about forces her knees out from under her.

Oh Goddammit.

"I was thinking I'd bring you some soup," Emma suggests, her tone light and easy. "Your throat probably feels like a desert right about now."

"I can make myself soup," Regina grumbles.

"If you say so."

"I do. Now I'm going to go take Stitch and Henry home and you…well, you make sure that my town doesn't end up getting burnt to the ground. You think that you can manage that without my assistance, Sheriff?"

Emma nods her head, and then watches with an overly large smirk as Regina turns and heads back towards the hallway, her heels again tapping out an unsteady but somehow still rhythmic beat.

Some things stay the same no matter how much the world goes weird.

* * *

Henry is the one who holds Stitch's furry paw as they walk outside. The little guy is curious, but he is also pretty scared of this world that he doesn't know anything about, and his nervousness is showing.

Thankfully, Henry's presence seems to calm him.

That is until Stitch sees the Benz and then abruptly, he starts hopping up and down, his eyes big and wide and excited. "Stitch drive?" he queries, looking up at Regina with hope. She almost feels bad about declining him.

Almost.

But then she remembers that she'd just gotten the Benz washed and waxed, and the inside of it vacuumed and…well, no one drives it but her. No one. Not even Emma. Well okay, there was that once. No, that doesn't count.

They'd been trying to out-run a dwarf that had accidentally taken a GROW ME big motion, and well...yeah.

"You drive?" she asks, an eyebrow lifted.

He nods his head enthusiastically. "Dune buggy!"

"Dune buggy," she repeats. "Of course." She shakes her head and offers Stitch a sickly sweet smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "But no. This is an actual car, and not a play one. And it's mine. So no, you can't drive it."

Henry snorts in amusement, and then turns his head away.

"Big meanie," Stitch garbles.

"I am not a big meanie," Regina retorts. "I am an adult."

"Adults are big meanies."

"Yes, well, this big meanie is telling you to get in the car before I have you shaved and declawed. You want to guess what you'll look like then?" Regina snaps back. She tries to ignore the chuckling voice (she decides to call it Swan) that's in her head reminding her that she's acting like an immature child right about now because really, she already knows that.

She's choosing to blame her decidedly childish behavior on being sick because there's no way that she'd be letting Stitch -or Emma for that matter - crawl so far under her skin otherwise. Of this, she's quite certain.

"Mom," Henry says with a sigh. "You promised to be nice."

"You promised," Stitch repeats, looking at her like he's so disappointed.

"I promised not to fry you," Regina tells him. "I said nothing about shaving."

"Mom."

"Fine," she repeats, sounding like she's five years old. "I won't shave him."

"I have to get back to school," he tells her, and she just does stop herself from asking "since when"? "I'll be over right after. Try to get along with Stitch and…don't take anymore cold pills; they're making you weird."

"I'm fine," she assures her son. "And…we'll be fine, too."

"Okay. Stitch, can you be good?"

"Stitch be good," he confirms.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Henry says, and then shaking his head, he heads down the street towards his school. Knowing him, though, he's probably headed somewhere else. Like maybe a secret room full of fairytale characters using beat poetry to give voice to their many pathetic woes.

Actually, that visual both amuses and annoys Regina.

She wonders if Leroy is a regular there. Jefferson probably does some weekly number about what a shitty life he has and -

"Stitch drive now?" he suggests then, pulling her from her weird thoughts. She turns and regards him with narrowed eyes.

"No," she says. She pulls open the door to the Benz and reaches behind the seat to where there's a towel. It's usually used to wipe away excess ice and grime from the windows on the coldest of mornings, but for the moment, it's dry and clean enough to serve as something for Stitch to sit on; she's not about to let the furry creature sit on her nice leather seats. She flaps the towel in the air and then lays it down on the passenger side. "Get in."

He gives her a look that seems to suggest that he thinks she's being a jerk.

So she stares right back at him.

Because he's a little alien with too much fur and long floppy ears that he uses for wicked purposes (clearly) and she's the Evil Queen and one is a whole lot more badass than the other one, and she's going to prove it if it's the last thing that she does. Which, yeah, sounds ridiculous to even her.

She's starting to wonder if maybe Henry is right and perhaps she'd taken too many cold pills.

God, she really – _really_ - hates being sick.

"Please," she says after a moment. "Get in the car, Stitch."

"Okay," he agrees, and then jumps up and onto the seat. As she watches, he leans across his body and belts himself in like he's been doing this his entire life. "Stitch good to go."

"Of course you are," she sighs. She walks around to the driver's side, gets in, belts herself up and starts the engine. "All right, Stitch," she says as she pulls the Benz out of park. "There are a few house rules you need to be aware of."

* * *

Rule Number One is that there is absolutely positively no running in the house at any time. Also, he has to wipe his certain to be dirty paws on the doormat before he's allowed inside.

Stitch breaks that one three minutes after he's entered the mansion, and Regina spends a half hour on her hands and knees cleaning up muddy paw prints and wondering if there's a way around Henry's no-frying request.

Rule Number Two is no climbing on the walls or the ceiling.

When shards of glass rain down like icicles off a roof on the front room, she thinks that she should have told him no hanging from the chandelier, too.

Rule Number Three is there is to be no arguing with the Queen.

Yes, she actually addresses herself as the Queen because he needs to know his place.

He starts yelling at her when she tells him he's broken rules one and two.

She thinks that there aren't enough drugs in the world for this kind of crazy.

* * *

Mary Margaret comes by the mansion about an hour later after the incident with the chandelier with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a Styrofoam carton of presumably (because with Eugenia you can never know what she just reheated) homemade chicken noodle soup from Granny's. "I thought you might like this," she says sweetly, and Regina actually considers dumping the hot broth all over the woman just for being so annoyingly nice all the time, but she stops herself and manages to convince herself that her crankiness is just because Stitch is currently burping out his ABCs.

She says "thank you" instead, and tries to actually sound sincere about it.

But then, of course, her old enemy just won't take the hint and leave before things get inevitably nasty between them. No, she has to ask stupid questions like, "How is everything going here? Are you two getting along?"

"Fabulously," Regina says as she picks up the dustpan and dumps another scoopful of glass into the trashcan. She glances up at the chandelier that probably cost more than Mary Margaret would make in a decade and sighs.

"He is a handful," Mary Margaret says with a knowing nod.

Like she would know.

Regina straightens up and plasters a smile on. "Thank you for the ice cream and the soup. We both appreciate it." She steps towards the front door and pulls it open. "I'm sure that you need to be getting back to…whatever."

Mary Margaret's eyebrow goes up and she stutters out, "Yes, of course."

"Very good. Assuming he hasn't shot himself or done something else equally idiotic to himself, please do give my kindest regards to your moron of a husband. Tell him to stay away from the goats."

And then with that said and a triumphant grin plastered across her face, the Evil Queen shuts the door in Snow White's shocked and red face. And then she winces.

Because she's sure that the infernal woman will go whining to the annoying woman – that one being Emma – and she'll hear it from Emma about how Snow is trying so very hard to be friendly and, well it's just too much.

She pulls open Stitch's ice cream and jams a spoon into it.

"Is good?" Stitch asks as he climbs up on the counter and looks at her. He's sitting with his legs under him now. On her perfectly clean counters. She thinks that she should be having a fit about this, but well…whatever.

"Is…yes, it's good," she says as she puts a bite in her mouth. "Very."

He nods like he understands, and then he reaches for the hot soup and in one gulp, swallows about six mouthfuls of it down "Is good," he confirms.

She just stares at him.

He gives her a toothy grin.

"You are insane," she says.

"But not naughty."

"My chandelier says otherwise."

He shakes his head. "Semi-naughty."

She rolls her eyes. "Did you burn your mouth with that soup?"

He considers her words for a moment, and then nods his head, his ears flopping down over him. "Ow," he says, moaning a little bit just for extra effect. He opens his mouth and points towards his tongue. "Burnt."

"Here," she says, handing him the ice cream. "But only if you use a spoon."

He scowls at her, then looks at the carton in one hand and the spoon in the other. To his credit, he actually makes an effort at trying to eat it properly, but his first three attempts end up with the ice cream back where it started, and with him holding an empty utensil. That seems to trigger something in his weird little alien brain because the next thing Regina knows, Stitch is having a rage fit that involves him throwing everything into his mouth, and she's beginning to wonder if he has a garbage disposal in his belly because there's just no way that he can actually consume everything that he has.

But then he burps and he looks at her with something like pride.

It's almost adorable until she remembers that he just ate one of her spoons.

"Rule Number Nine," she tells him, her eyebrow lifted.

"No more rules," he says, and she's pretty sure he's whining.

"No eating my silverware."

"Too many rules," he protests again.

"Well, if you will behave for more than ten seconds at a time, then you won't have to worry about it," she counters. "Now isn't it time for a nap? Gods know that I could use one right about now."

"Don't want to nap."

"You sound exactly like Henry," she tells him.

His ears perk up at that. "Henry home?"

"Not yet. Soon. Sooner if you go take a nap."

"Don't wanna," he pouts.

"Stitch," she says, placing her hands on her hips. This is vaguely familiar to her in an almost soothing way so she tries not to focus on the fact that this isn't Henry that she's being strict with, but rather a weird family pet.

He tilts his head to the side and looks at for a moment in the strangest way, like she's somehow familiar to him and it upsets him. "Nani," he says.

"I don't understand."

"You're like Nani."

Regina doesn't know who Nani is, but she's clearly someone that Stitch listens to so, "Does Nani tell you to take naps?"

"Me and Lilo," he confirms with a nod.

"Well then, listen to her. To me." She points over to a pillow that she'd placed on the ground. It's big and soft, and she's actually proud of herself for surrendering it because it's also expensive and it matches her décor.

Not that it matters, though, because he gives the pillow on the ground one withering almost disgusted look, and then climbs up on the couch in the Living Room, and then pulls a soft down blanket over his furry body. "No rules against this," he tells her with another one of his big toothy grins.

She opens her mouth to protest and then snaps it shut. "Fine," she grunts.

She turns and walks away, back into her office. She thinks to slam the door shut behind her, but then considers the trouble he could get into if she isn't able to see what he's up to. No, better to leave it open a crack just in case.

She takes two more cold pills - considers for a moment that she's taking perhaps a bit too much - and then downs them with a glass of water, drops herself down on the couch, sighs loudly, and throws her head back.

Sleep hits her like a bus going ninety miles an hour about five minutes later.

The King of Rock and Roll is what wakes her up three hours later.

* * *

Regina has gathered herself a rather eclectic collection of music; some of it had come with the curse and the house, and some she had bought off the Internet. She has jazz and opera and classic rock and bubblegum pop.

She has Van Halen, Janis Joplin, Richard Wagner, Lou Reed, Buddy Holly, Norah Jones, Johnny Cash and Pearl Jam.

She has Elvis Presley.

And right now, it's Elvis that is booming through her house.

She rises slowly from the couch, her hand to temple and groans.

It takes her a moment to understand exactly what is happening, and then she starts to hear the words to _Hound Dog._

Which means that Stitch is up from his nap, has found her records and is now messing around with a player that can best be described as vintage.

She growls and strides out of her office, meaning to tell the furry little bastard that even if there hadn't been a rule against what he's doing, there is now, and she's making it retroactive which means that he's in big –

She stops cold in the hallway, and if Regina could do a cartoon like jaw flop, she's pretty sure that she would be doing one because Stitch is standing in front of the stairs with her broom in his hands, a dish towel around his neck and what looks like one of her best lace bras – a red one - around his ears.

"What in the hell are you doing?" she hisses out.

He grins at her and then twirls around, his paw out like he's –

"Mom, I think he's asking you to dance," Henry says from the doorway. He's standing there with his backpack slung over his shoulder and his eyes are twinkling like someone has just handed him the greatest present ever.

Perhaps seeing his half-drugged up mother getting asked to dance to Elvis Presley by a furry little space alien from another world is exactly that.

Either way, it's absolutely not happening.

It's not.

"No dancing," she snaps out.

He pouts, and she's pretty sure that Henry does, too.

"Rule Number Ten?" Stitch asks.

"Rule Number Ten," Regina confirms with a nod of her head. "There is absolutely no dancing. And certainly not in my bra."

Which, of course, is when Emma Swan enters the house.

Because she is so much her mother's daughter at the most obnoxious of times and she always seems to appear right when it's the most inconvenient moment of all. Like when Regina is being a stick in the mud for no other reason than because she's already spent the afternoon on her hands and knees scrubbing spots and picking up glass, and all she wants to do is sleep until she doesn't feel like every part of her body is trying to stage a revolution. Like right now.

Because Elvis is now singing _Return To Sender_ and Regina thinks that she really needs to sit down before she passes out because suddenly the room is spinning and she thinks she's spinning and oh, this probably isn't good.

"Mom?" Henry asks. "Mom, are you all right?"

"Uh oh," Emma says as she lunges forward, and they both know she can't possibly get there in time to keep Regina from hitting the ground with a loud painful thud.

As it turns out, Stitch is faster than Emma.

Maybe stronger than her, too.

He catches Regina without a problem and then grins. "Got you."

She groans and looks up at Emma, "I'm going to kill you for this."

"Make threats that you can't and won't deliver on later," Emma teases. "For now, why don't we get you over to a couch and I'll get you some water."

"I got her," Henry says, leaning down to offer his mother an arm.

There's a weird moment then, though, where it looks like Stitch might not be willing to give Regina up. His eyes narrow and his grip tightens, and he's looking at Henry and Emma like they might be some kind of threat.

To Regina.

Emma puts her hand over her mouth and laughs into it.

"It's okay," Henry assures him, shooting Emma a look meant to shush her.

Stitch considers this for a moment and then reluctantly releases his hold on Regina and scampers away, climbing first up the staircase and then onto the wall so that he can carefully watch as Henry leads Regina over to the couch that Stitch had napped on earlier. He hangs upside down to observe it all.

"You definitely have a friend," Emma says, echoing her previous words said at the sheriff's station. She kneels down next to Regina, making solid eye contact with the former queen to confirm she's all right. Once she has, she smiles and lights asks, "By the way, is that one of your bras on his head?"

"Yes, and you were supposed to pretend you didn't notice it. I see your Charming genes cut in once again," Regina replies, her tone low and so very tired as Henry hovers by pretending like he isn't actually listening to them.

Probably because he doesn't want to really think about his mother's bra.

"Sorry," Emma shrugs as she disappears into the kitchen. She reappears a moment later with a glass of water which she hands to Regina. "My mother said she came by earlier with soup. She said you were a bit of an asshole."

Regina perks up at that. "Did she actually call me that? An asshole?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I'm trying to imagine that word coming out of Snow White's mouth. Did it sound rude? Rather dirty? Like it belonged in a bedroom?"

"You're higher than a kite, aren't you?" Henry asks, looking disgusted.

"She must be to be discussing my parent's sex life," Emma states and then grins when Henry groans loudly. "Kid, why don't you take Stitch upstairs to see your bedroom. I'm sure he'd love to check out your comic books."

"Yeah," Stitch agrees, and then looks back at Regina. He glances back at Henry, then returns his gaze to Regina, the whole event made all the more comical by the fact that he's still wearing Regina's red bra atop his head.

"Tell him that it's okay to go," Emma whispers to Regina.

"Why?"

"Because for some bizarre reason that none of us can figure out, Regina, Stitch actually likes you and wants to be around you. I don't think he's willing to leave your side unless you tell him that's it's okay to do so."

"I've been looking my whole life for that and I get it in the form of –"

"Be nice," Emma advises.

"If I must. Stitch, go with Henry. And take my bra off. Rule Number 11."

"Ten," he corrects.

"No, not dancing it with it is ten. Not wearing it is eleven."

"Might want to reverse that," Emma suggest good-naturedly.

It gets her what's meant to be an icy glare. "Go on, Stitch," Regina urges.

"Okay." He puts out his paw, and Henry takes it and leads him upstairs.

"So, did you make any progress on his situation?" Regina asks as she sits up. The moment she does, she's wincing as her stomach rolls and every part of tries to convince her that flat on her back is the only way to go right now.

"We made a little. Not as much as I would have liked," Emma admits. Then, frowning, "You really did get hit with something nasty, didn't you?"

"Apparently so," Regina drawls. "And what you just saw never happened."

"Aw. I thought that it was actually kind of –"

"It's not cute."

"It's not cute," Emma agrees with a grin. "Though I would have loved to have seen you dancing with him. Can you imagine the blackmail material?"

"You're awfully cheeky when I'm drugged up, Sheriff."

"I find my amusement where I can, Madam Mayor. As for your question, yes and no. We have all of Stitch's cousins rounded up and housed for the night with people around town so that part is handled. As for Jefferson, well my father is currently over with him trying to talk him into helping us out."

"That's the problem with you ridiculous Charming idiots," Regina says with an annoyed sigh. "Don't talk to the idiot trying to turn back time, threaten him with his kneecaps. Or at least a finger or two. He's partial to them."

"Why don't we save that for Plan B."

Regina snorts. "Knowing you fools, it's Plan Z."

"Well, then we have a lot of plans to go through before we get to the maiming," Emma tells her. "So in the meanwhile, we just stay in control."

"I have a talking dog in my house who likes to wear my bra and dance to Elvis," Regina retorts. "He also ate one of my best spoons. It matched my set."

"I wish I had a tape recorder for how petulant you sound."

"I still have my magic," Regina threatens. "I can still do…things to you."

"I'm aware," Emma says with a bright smile. It's actually quite lovely on her, Regina thinks for a moment before she pushes the thought away. One more thing to blame on the drugs, she tells herself. "But because I'm actually a nice person," Emma continues on, not seeming to notice the odd way Regina is looking at her. "I brought you over more soup and some honey tea."

"Why? What do you want from me?" Regina asks.

Emma laughs. "Nothing more than what you're already doing."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Stitch could be here for a few more days, and I think he's found some kind of comfort with you so I think it would be in everyone's best interests if he stays here instead of going from house to house. That's all."

"And if I don't want to play mother to a furry little chaos demon?"

"I think you'll break his heart."

"Isn't he some kind of test tube creature?" Regina queries, thinking back to the quick Wikipedia search that she'd done on Stitch when she'd gotten home. "An evil one who was programmed to destroy everything in sight?"

"Well you two have that in common."

"You're not nearly as amusing as you think I am."

Emma laughs. "The problem is, I think I'm far more amusing that you want to admit. I think you're actually kind of entertained by me."

"I'm also entertained by red-assed baboons," Regina replies sweetly.

Emma snorts. "In any case, yes, Stitch is a test tube baby with a penchant for destruction, but he found his better nature through love and family. Maybe that's something else that you two can have in common. Hmm?"

Regina makes a face at that. Which makes Emma grin.

"I brought the movie over for you. You should watch it," Emma suggests as she holds up a DVD case with a picture of Stitch on the cover of it.

"Fine."

"Fine you'll watch the movie or fine you'll keep him for now?

"Fine."

"Okay, fine." Emma stands up. "The soup and the tea are in the kitchen and Henry and Stitch are upstairs. Why don't you just sleep for a while?"

"When I wake up will my chandelier still be in a thousand pieces?"

"Yes," Emma says as she inserts the _Lilo and Stitch_ DVD into the player.

Regina grunts. "Go away, Miss Swan."

"Happy to. You need anything, give me a call."

"Because you'll come running?" Regina asks, eyebrow up.

"Depends on if you're an asshole to me." She laughs, then. "I have to say, you're kind of hilarious sick and drugged, Regina. Almost even fun."

"And you're kind of an idiot. Actually you're that when I'm not sick and drugged up so I guess that some things don't change," she fires back.

Unfortunately for her, the insult just makes Emma chuckle.

Maybe it was the crappy delivery or perhaps it's the fact that Regina is now shivering enough to need to pull the blanket up and over her, but both things really kill the whole badass Evil Queen thing she'd been going for.

In any case, she's so done with this. Her house is a mess, her kid is playing with a creature from an animated movie, and the town's sheriff who just a few months ago was her enemy and is now something other (she refuses to define what that is) than that is now taunting her. It's really annoying.

And she just wants to sleep.

Or curl up on the bathroom floor.

"I'll call later," Emma says gently, and then because she's really the most unbearably kind person ever born, she grabs an extra blanket from the opposite side of the couch and drops it over Regina's shuddering frame.

Regina considers lighting her hair on fire for it.

It would give her a halo effect at least.

But no, because Henry probably wouldn't love a burnt up Emma.

She sighs like someone has just taken away her favorite teddy bear.

Except she'd never had one.

But at least Henry has one.

God, how many pills had she taken?

It's Emma's hand sweeping hair lightly away from her sweaty brow that brings her back to the here and now, and for a moment, they just stare at each other like there's something happening here, but there just can't be.

"Just call me if you need anything," Emma says again, her voice thick with _something_, and then she steps away and beats a hasty retreat, closing the door quietly behind her.

Refusing to think about what had just occurred – or not occurred depending on her level of stubborn – the former queen decides that she might as well watch this silly movie. For research if nothing else. So with considerable effort, Regina manages to grab at the remote control, and hit PLAY on the DVD player, which starts _Lilo and Stitch. _

She even manages to pick up the thick file of damage reports with the full intention of at least doing a quick glance over of them. It only takes her ten minutes to realize that unless she wants to arbitrarily deny or approve everyone, this is going to have to wait for a time when her eyes aren't blurring together and when her patience isn't quite as short as it is.

So she returns her attention to the movie.

And really tries to focus.

She falls asleep before the forty-five minute mark.

But not before she sees Stitch playing a record through his mouth.

* * *

When she comes to, it's because Henry is shaking her lightly. "Mom?"

She grunts and swats at him, just barely avoiding nailing him in the face.

"Mom," he says again, scowling at her. "Mom, wake up."

She reluctantly forces her bleary eyes open and hopes to hell that she's not drooling all over herself in front of her son. Distantly, she's aware that the television is on, still looping the animated menus for _Lilo and Stitch_.

"Henry?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because it's almost midnight, and you're here instead of in your bed."

She shoots up on the couch and her stomach flips in loud protest, and that's almost it except that Regina has committed mass murder and walked through fields of dead people so she finds a way to stop herself from losing everything that's inside of her in front of her child, and instead just looks at Henry with a vaguely sickly expression and says, "Did you eat?"

"Yeah, we both did."

"We?" she asks weakly.

"He's still here. But don't worry, he's no longer wearing your…stuff."

"Well that's good, at least. Where is he?"

"Brushing his teeth," Henry tells her.

"Really?"

"He insisted. He's got quite the nighttime ritual." He frowns, then, as if remembering. "I think you're going to want a new toothbrush, though."

She groans loudly and wonders if her son will hold her doing a face-plant back onto her pillow against her.

"Come on," Henry says. "I'll help you up to bed."

"I don't –"

"Yes, you do, and I want to."

Her shoulders sag, and for once, she doesn't fight him. Because he's her child, and he wants to take care of her, and well, that means something.

So she lets him do exactly that.

He covers her up in her bed, and kisses her on the forehead.

"Is he still in your room?" she asks.

"Yeah. I think he's going to sleep on the foot of the bed."

"Be careful," she tells him. "We still don't know much about him."

"Don't worry," he says. "Goodnight, mom. I love you."

"Goodnight, Henry," she whispers. "I love you, too."

She hears the door close a moment later, and then she sags backwards against the pillow, thinking about how crazy her day has been, and how the world never seems to slow down long enough for her to breathe.

She thinks about the Enchanted Forest and Neverland and Hawaii.

And just as she's wondering about all of this, she hears the bedroom door open again, and then there's the sound of soft footsteps across the carpet.

"Henry?"

"No," she hears and feels a slight weight on the bed. "Stitch scared."

She turns the light on next to bed and looks down at him, blinking. His ears are down and his eyes are big, and yeah, he looks scared. "Why?" she asks.

"Stitch misses Lilo."

"Of course you do." She reaches out and touches him lightly on the top of the head, even going so far as to scratch him there just a little bit. "Don't worry, we are going to get you home to her. I promise you that."

He nods his head. "Stitch scared," he repeats. "Stay with Regina."

"Oh, I don't know –"

But then he's curling up under her arm, and she's reminded of a happy little hound dog that she'd had when she'd been about five or six years of age.

His name had been Max and he'd been so small and sickly, and one day he'd just disappeared, but until then, he'd spent every moment with her.

Her mother had disapproved, of course, but her father had encouraged it.

Told her that there was no truer bond than that of a person with an animal.

Stitch isn't quite an animal, but he's not exactly a person, either.

"Sleep," Stitch advises, nuzzling into her.

She chuckles low in her throat and agrees, "Sleep."

And then, because Emma seems to be rubbing off on her in all of the best – or worst – of ways, she then grabs the throw blanket that usually sits on the end of the bed and places it over Stitch, smiling as he snuggles down into it.

**TBC.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks for the kind words. Just one more chapter to go home and this wee crackfest will wrap up.

**Warnings:** Some language, some comic mischief and a cranky ass Queen. Also, some SQ sweetness. Yeah.

* * *

She wakes up at just after seven in the morning feeling even worse than she had felt the previous night (and considering how badly she's been feeling over the last few days, that's saying something considerable), but it's not the aching of her muscles or the sickly queasiness in her belly that initially unsettles the former queen.

It's the furry blue butt in her face.

Which promptly makes a once unimaginably evil woman who had brought down countless kingdoms and felled more than a few unbeatable enemies scream like she's a big-breasted zero-brained teenager in a bad horror film.

Not that Regina has seen many of those, but the ones that she has seen were all pretty awful, and the girls always screeched like moronic twits instead of running away from the guy with the massive gut-ripping blade, and well, right now she rather imagines that she sounds just like that.

Which makes the owner of the furry blue butt shriek as well. Interestingly enough, she notes in the back of her fogged up brain, he's screaming like a hysterical teen, too (complete with paws over his face to express his absolute "terror"). Not that that actually stops either of them from doing it.

They're both still doing it – looking so ridiculous that she should actually be a terribly embarrassed, and she's pretty sure that she will be eventually – when the door to her bedroom gets flung wide open and a still half-asleep but suddenly scared out of his mind Henry comes rushing inside to see what all of the screaming is about. "Mom?" he calls out. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is everything all right?" He's practically babbling out his words.

It's Henry's presence which makes Regina get ahold of herself, but it's Stitch – her little unwanted houseguest who had cuddled himself up to her the night before and had then apparently flung himself around in his sleep so that his butt had been where his head was supposed to have been – who is the first one to say anything, "She yelled at me," he states, and then jabs his paw at her accusingly. She gets the impression that he's pouting a bit, too.

"He was upside down on my pillow," Regina explains grouchily to her deeply confused looking son, before scowling and then glaring at Stitch.

"Sound asleep," Stitch protests, looking right at Henry. "Being good!"

"With your butt in my face," she snaps back.

"Oh, boy," Henry mutters, his tone the one that someone uses when they're dealing with a lunatic. "All right. " He runs his hands through his dark hair. "Mom, why don't I get Stitch something to eat, and you take a shower and-"

"And what?" she demands, her bleary eyes wide like she can't quite believe that her son is actually taking the little furball's side on this.

Doesn't Henry understand how unacceptable this whole situation is?

Once upon a time, Regina had been a Queen and after she had risen to power, the privilege of sharing her bed had been granted to very few souls. Once she had become the Mayor, that list had slimmed down to Graham for personal needs, and Henry for when he needed comfort from his mother.

She hasn't shared her bed with anyone for anything in almost two years.

Until she'd let Stitch fall asleep next to her out of the kindness of her heart.

Or the delusion of her sick mind.

And he'd repaid her with his hairy butt in her face.

Okay, so it sounds a bit silly, she admits to herself. But then again, so is the fact that Stitch is now standing on her pristine white pillows with his paws on his hips looking at her like she's somehow the big bad guy in all of this.

She is going to murder Emma for this. Sure, she's made a vow to Emma and to Henry and to everyone else that she'll only use magic to help the town out and not for personal gain and sure, she mostly likes Emma these days (sometimes even more than likes), but honestly, wouldn't teaching Emma a lesson about her sense of humor be good for everyone?

"Get off that," Regina hisses, and then she yanks the pillow out from under him, which causes him to fall back to the mattress with a thump. He glares up at her, and then bares his teeth in a way that's likely supposed to appear threatening, but his ears are flopping around, and she's so very sick and tired and it all just makes her laugh like she's going just a wee bit insane. So she does. For almost two minutes straight. Until she starts coughing.

And Henry gives a worried look like he thinks that she's lost it completely and says, "Come on, Stitch. I think my mom needs a few minutes alone to...yeah, we should go."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks as she wipes her hand past her mouth to get rid of stray moisture there, and straightens herself up, ignoring the slight ache in her chest (too much coughing over the last few days, she thinks).

"You just…well, you look like…we're going to go make breakfast. I'll bring you up some orange juice in a few minutes, okay?" He offers her what's probably supposed to be a comforting smile, but it's so forced that all it does is make her slump her shoulders because her kid thinks she's crazy.

And she hasn't even taken one of the cold pills yet this morning.

Not that whatever the hell she has is actually a cold, she decides. It's like some kind of never-ending hell plague that's trying to kill her. Maybe it's the revenge of Gold's death curse from the well. Or maybe it's some disease that one of Snow's wretched little birds had brought to town.

Either way, there simply aren't drugs good enough – or strong enough - to make an awful little morning like this one any better.

"Fine," she sighs. "But don't let him play with the burners."

"I won't," Henry promises her. Then he looks at Stitch. "No burners."

Stitch sticks out his tongue.

"Stitch."

"Stitch can cook," he protests. "Make Regina good breakfast so she feels better." He nods his head quickly, and it makes his ears flops every which way. Which also makes Regina more than a little bit dizzy just watching.

"You can help," Henry assures him.

"Don't burn down my kitchen," Regina pleads, her hand sliding up to touch her sweat slicked forehead. She really needs to get them out of the room.

"We won't," Henry assures her. "Come on, Stitch."

Stitch gives her a look, and then jumps off the bed and takes Henry's hand as her son leads him from the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

Almost reluctantly, she looks over at the mirror, and sees her reflection staring back at her. She looks pale, blotchy, her eyes are rimmed with red and her nose is running like a faucet. She thinks about how weird her life has gotten over the last couple of years, and how it's not even all that strange anymore that while she's filthy sick, she finds herself housing a cartoon character from another world. It's par for the course, and she wonders if that's why she's objecting to it so much. Because strange is her everyday.

Or maybe it's because Emma is probably at home stuffing her fool mouth full of doughnuts while Regina is sitting on her bed wanting to throw up.

Also, now there's blue fur on the sheets, which means that they need to be changed and washed before Regina can even think about sleeping on them again. Which is awful because her body desperately craves sleep right now.

Oh, there isn't revenge deep or dark enough for this, but she'll find one.

She smiles her most wicked smile.

One full of power, victory and menace.

One that an Evil Queen would be proud of.

And then she jumps up and rushes to the bathroom.

* * *

He's surprising stealthy for a little creature that has a bad habit of using his tongue to clean unmentionable parts of his anatomy. This is a fact that Regina discovers while she's rocking her feverish body back and forth next to the just used toilet. It's as she's tilting backwards that she finds Stitch standing in the doorway of her en suite bathroom – wearing one of her best cooking aprons around his waist - looking at her with big worried eyes.

"Regina sick," he says, sounding sad about it. She sees that he's holding a mostly empty glass of juice in his paw. There are signs that he's just recently taken a few drinks from it himself, orange moisture drops on his face.

"I am," she grunts, and then leans back against the wall for a moment to rest her weary almost completely drained body before her tired brain clicks over and she realizes that if Stitch is back here in the bathroom with her, then Henry might be nearby, and he can't be allowed to see her like this.

Because even if he wants to, she needs him to think of her as strong.

"Stitch," she asks, her voice low and hoarse. "Where's Henry?"

"Making breakfast," he replies as he places the glass down next to her, and then, without warning, he leaps up on the sink and uses the extra height that he's gained to get to the towels on the rack above the toilet. He pulls it down, wets it underneath the sink and then brings it to her. "Regina feel better," he says, offering her the damp towel with a large hopeful smile.

She tilts her head. "You are the strangest little…"

She doesn't even know what to call him anymore so instead of finishing her sentence, she sighs and takes the towel and dabs it against her sweaty face.

"Thank you," Regina says gently, trying to show him her gratitude for his kindness. It's weird how much she actually wants to show Stitch it because he's not any kind of person and he won't be staying around for long anyway so what do his feelings really matter in the grand scheme of things?

But then he beams at her and he seems so very happy about helping her and doing something good and right, and well, that's just enough for her.

"Go on," she chuckles. "I'm sure you're hungry and I'm…I'm fine."

He nods his head enthusiastically and then scrambles away.

She watches him go until her stomach painfully revolts once more.

And then she's back to cursing Emma.

Which isn't fair because Emma isn't the reason she's sick, and Stitch – aside from the butt in the face issue and the broken chandelier and the paw prints everywhere – has actually turned out to be something of an amusement, but still, someone should have to pay for the Evil Queen having the super flu.

Someone will, she vows.

As soon as she can manage to stand up again.

* * *

"How is she doing?" Emma asks as she pulls on her jacket. It's going to be an overall warm day – especially for Storybrooke – but it's still early enough to be crisp outside. This is going to be a busy one: she has to keep an eye on all of Stitch's cousins, ensure that nothing else came through with them, and continue helping David to pressure Jefferson to open the portal again so that they can send all of their mischievous little creatures back home.

Jefferson is being a little bitch about it all, though. He apparently thinks he has himself a good bargaining position and is making the kind of demands that a lunatic is apt to make. Emma finds that she's actually considering Regina's drugged up suggestion about breaking a few of his fingers.

Just considering, of course.

Because actually breaking his fingers would be so very wrong.

Oh, and on top of all of that, she also has to deal with a super cranky and sick Madam Mayor who apparently has spent most of the morning hiding away from the world in her bathroom. Because apparently if a Queen is ill in secret and no one is around to hear or see it, it didn't actually happen.

Regina's logic never fails to give Emma a migraine. Or three.

"She's still in there," Henry replies. "The door's locked now."

"Yikes."

"You're sure she's okay?"

"I think she just caught herself some funky nasty hybrid version of the flu," Emma tells him. "And to be honest, kid, your mom probably had it coming."

"Because she was the Evil Queen?" he asks, wrinkling his brow. Stitch is sitting next to him, leaning in so that he, too, can hear the conversation.

Which is actually a whole lot better than where he has been sitting which is next to the bathroom door, his paws scratching against it. Suffice it to say, Stitch isn't all that thrilled with Regina locking herself away from him.

Henry's starting to think that maybe when this is all over and Stitch is back in his version of Hawaii, maybe he should try to talk Regina into a puppy. Sure, it won't talk or jump on chandeliers (hopefully), but he thinks maybe his mom might benefit from having some kind of animal so utterly devoted.

"No, it has nothing to do with that," Emma replies. "It has everything to do with the fact that for almost thirty years, your mom had time frozen which probably means that she didn't even have so much a morning sniffle."

"But I did," he reminds her. "So why didn't she catch what I had?"

"Well, I think it's because the curse kept everyone trapped in some kind of walking stasis, but you were completely ordinary in that regard. You aged and got sick like a normal kid would have, which allowed you to build up all of the typical antibodies and such, but she didn't have that chance. Which means that the diseases of this world are fairly new to her immune system. And everyone else's for that matter. I've been hearing reports of nasty bugs like this, and here's the thing, kid, everyone has survived it eventually."

"So you're absolutely sure that she is going to be okay?" he asks again.

She chuckles. "I'm certain of it. And to prove it, I'll even come over to try to help you get her out of the bathroom and back into bed," Emma offers.

He sighs in relief. "Thanks."

"No problem. In the meanwhile, how's Stitch doing?"

"He really likes her. Even after the butt in the face issue from this morning."

"Tell me you took a picture."

"I was worried they were killing each other so no, I forgot the camera," he replies, using that tone that he takes on when he thinks she's being dumb.

It reminds her a lot of Regina, actually.

"Damn," Emma sighs. "Eh, I'm sure he'll do something else that I can use to annoy her with. He's kind of a walking disaster zone, isn't he?"

"He's listening, and I don't think he likes you saying that."

"Hi, Stitch," Emma grins.

Stich growls in response, and then reaches for the phone as if he means to grab it and break it in half. Or maybe eat it. It's hard to tell with him.

"He's not really your biggest fan, but he is hers," Henry states as he pushes Stitch away from him. "I think he's even a little bit protective over her."

"Figures that a furry lunatic from one dimension would fall in love with a sarcastic bullheaded one from another world," Emma notes dryly.

"Love is a funny thing."

"Shut up, kid," Emma replies.

"I'm just saying –"

"I know exactly what you're saying, and I'll say the same thing that keep saying to you: stop matchmaking and stop parent-trapping for the two of us. We both know what you're up to and it's not going to work. I mean just because your mom and I are getting along these days, and we're even kind of something like friends doesn't mean anything more than that, okay?"

"You brought her soup last night," he states. "And I know you sent Gram over earlier in the afternoon to check in on her even if Gram won't admit it."

"Mary Margaret promised Stitch ice cream."

"She didn't promise mom soup. And you brought over more last night.

Emma grunts. "I also stuck her with Stitch. Who terrorized your house."

"Yeah, maybe, but you trusted her. You trust her to take care of him."

"You're making way too much of this. Which I need you to stop doing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I gotta go, Emma."

"Kid –"

"Bye, Emma," Stitch says suddenly.

And then the line goes dead.

She sighs loudly, zips up her jacket and then steps outside.

* * *

Stitch is watching his own movie when Emma gets to the house, and she thinks for a moment that she's going to have to call Archie because the little blue guy looks about as depressed as she's ever seen anything ever look.

"Stitch?" she says as she approaches him.

"Miss Lilo," he tells her before freezing the DVD and then moving to touch the animated version of his constant companion who is on the TV screen.

"We're working on it," she promises, her voice gentle and understanding because even if this is so unbelievably surreal, she kind of understands feeling like you just want to get home to the family that you've created and become a part of. She kneels down next to him. "Very soon, I promise."

"Promise?" he repeats.

"Cross my heart," she says, making the motion. "Where's Henry?"

"Upstairs with Regina." He pouts again.

"That's probably where I should be, too."

He jumps up, his eyes suddenly wide. "I go with you."

"That's maybe not the best idea."

"Stitch help. Stitch doesn't like Regina unhappy. Regina good to Stitch."

Emma's not sure that she completely buys that, but then again, perhaps there's an understanding between the two once evil…creatures? Whatever it is, Stitch clearly has an affinity for Regina, and well, that can only be good.

"Okay," Emma replies and then she leans in towards him and lowers her voice so that's conspiratorial in nature, "Just between us, Stitch, our Queen is pretty high maintenance. Even more so when she's sick like she is. We need to progress very carefully here. You understand what I'm saying?"

He salutes her - with absolutely sincerity - and she grins back at him.

She doesn't know about Regina, but she thinks that she's really going to miss this little dude – not his crazy cousins, though, because they are nuts - once he's finally back on his way home to his own family.

Henry is sitting next to the bathroom door when Emma and Stitch enter the bedroom. He has a red DS in his hands, and he's focused on the screen, but he looks up when he sees them, clear relief splashing across his nearly teenage features. "About time," he says to Emma. "She won't come out."

"Does she sound upset?"

"Hard to say," he replies with frown. "Every time that we try to have a conversation, she starts throwing up again. There can't be anything left."

"Yeah, probably not," Emma agrees. "Okay, do me a favor, kid. Go grab some ginger ale or something bubbly from downstairs. Crackers, too, if you have them. She may not be able to stomach any food, but we need to at least get some liquids into her before she completely dehydrates herself."

"Got it," Henry says, standing up and stretching out. His eyes go to Stitch who is staring intently at the door. "She's okay," he promises the creature.

Stitch doesn't reply.

"Go," Emma urges. "By the time you get back, we'll have your mom chilling in bed, and then all that will be left is to listen to her bitching at us."

"Language, Miss Swan," Regina moans through the closed door.

"See?" Emma smirks.

Henry chuckles, and then turns and heads out of the room.

"Okay, now comes the hard part," Emma mutters to herself. She puts her hand on the door just to check it, but of course it's locked. There's probably a key somewhere around, but she's not ready to go looking for it just yet.

Which means she needs to talk Regina out of there.

She wonders if she – or Regina – has the patience for that.

Well, she supposes with a sigh, perhaps it's time to really test out this new understanding almost kind of like friends relationship they have these days.

"Hey, Regina," she says as she leans her body against the door. Stitch, of course, mirrors her posture exactly. "How are you doing in there?"

"I feel absolutely great, Miss Swan," comes the rumbled reply. "Just great."

"Right. So, here's the thing, okay? Your kid – our kid – he's pretty damned worried about you right now because you've been in there all morning."

"I'm so very glad that you can both read a wristwatch."

"Yeah, learned that in the first grade. Or something like that." She frowns when she sees Stitch looking down at his own wrist like he should have one on it. "Which doesn't change the fact that you really should be in bed right now and not on the floor of your bathroom. So if you'll just open the –"

"No. No, I won't."

"Really? That's what you're going with? Being a petulant toddler?"

"Yes."

Emma's eyebrow lifts and she nods her head. "Well, all right."

"Does that mean that you'll –" she cuts off in mid sentence and there's the sound of what has to be dry heaving, and then a loud pained whimper.

"No, sorry, Regina, it doesn't mean I'm leaving," Emma replies gently. "And if you are too much of a stubborn ass to let me in so I can help you, then I guess I'll have to make a mess of your house looking for another way in."

Regina's only answer is another pathetic whimper.

"Have it your way," Emma says as she turns to Stitch. "You stay in here with her. I'm going to go look above the doors for the other bathrooms. There has to be a key around here somewhere. Keep…talking to her, all right?"

Stitch nods his head, and then leads back towards the door, paws once again against it. "Regina," he warbles. "Stitch wants to come in."

The former queen groans in response."

"Stitch coming in," he tells her, nodding his head emphatically.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am. I am. I am."

Emma rolls her eyes, and steps out of the bedroom because she thinks it's probably in everyone's best interests if she doesn't hear this fight.

Unfortunately, she's just outside of the room when she hears a crash and a scream, and she almost stumbles over herself as she reverses course.

"Regina, are you…oh my God." She just barely stops herself from an involuntary – and sure to get her killed by Regina – laugh as she pulls up short, her eyes wide as she stares at Stitch who is standing just outside of the bathroom. With the door – freshly ripped off its hinges - in his paws.

"I am," Stitch beams, holding the door over his head. "Coming in."

Well shit, he really is freakishly strong, isn't he?

"Okay, Stitch," Emma says, her hands out in a placating motion. "Why don't we put the door down now? Regina, are you doing all right in there?"

"Tell me I'm delusional and I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing."

"He did rip your bathroom door off, yes. Sorry about that."

"I'm going to kill you," Regina hisses before wincing as her stomach flips again. "When I'm myself again, I'm going to break every magical promise I've ever made, and I'm going to turn you into every animal in the forest."

"Every single one?" she asks weakly.

"And then I'll declare hunting season on."

"Well that's just mean. Stitch, put the door down."

"Gently," Regina whispers but it's too late because Stitch just drops the door and it's far too big for the space they're in which means it crashes into the dresser and the bed, and well suddenly everything down is up in the air.

A mirror shatters, clothing goes flying everywhere and a bottle of what is probably five hundred dollar perfume spills onto the once clean carpet.

But Stitch is oblivious to all of this because he's rushing into the bathroom, and jumping on the counter to get a wet rag for Regina. "All better," he warbles, his eyes so very big. "Just like before. Stitch make Regina okay."

"Emma?" Henry says as he enters. "What the – oh. Oh no."

"I know, kid. I am so dead."

"On the upside, you won't have to worry about me parent-trapping you."

"You really are your mother's son," Emma groans. She moves into the bathroom, stepping over splintered wood, and kneels down next to Regina.

"This is somehow your fault," Regina mumbles as her head hits the tile.

"Your illness or your door?"

"Both," Regina sighs, accepting Emma's arms around her waist.

"Yeah, well, for now how about we focus on getting you into bed, and back to sleep, and then you can blame me for Stitch and your flu bug later."

"Stitch do naughty?" he says suddenly.

Regina rolls her head and looks at him. "You tore my door off."

He pouts. "You wouldn't come out."

"So you ripped my door off at the hinges?"

He nods his head, looking like he'd just done the best thing ever for her.

"What the hell kind of logic is that?"

"Stitch logic."

Emma laughs. "Yeah, Regina, go ahead and dispute that."

"This is all just a dream," Regina replies, suddenly looking very tired.

"Okay," Emma nods. "Then if it's all just a dream, you won't mind too much me picking you up and carrying you back to bed, right?"

"Well, you have been trying to do that for awhile now, haven't you?"

Emma doesn't miss the way that both Henry and Stitch cock their heads at her like they think that something interesting has just happened. Jerks.

"You're right," Emma drawls. "You _are_ completely delusional right now."

"Oh, so I still have a bathroom door."

Emma glances over at the one on the floor. "Technically, you do."

"Good," Regina mumbles as she sags down towards the ground, all the strength bleeding out of her. "Then by all means, Sheriff, take me to bed."

"Not a word," Emma says to Henry. Then, to Stitch, "From either of you."

"Nothing from me," Henry assures her.

"Nothing from Stitch," he echoes.

"You're both full of shit. Henry, some help, please?"

"Right." He rushes around to the opposite side of Regina, and then, on a three count, helps his blonde mother to lift up his brunette one, who is now almost completely out cold at this point, up. She's a total dead weight, but between the two of them, they're able to carry her over towards the bed.

Thankfully, Stitch took the opportunity to sweep all the debris from the door hitting the bed onto the floor so that Regina has a clean place to lie.

Of course, that means that the room is even more of a mess now.

Oh, but Stitch is standing on the pillows looking so proud of himself.

So Emma just sighs and she and Henry gently lay Regina down on the mattress. "Okay," she says to Stitch as she pulls a blanket up and over Regina's shaking frame. "We need to clean up a bit so that means you're on guard duty. If Regina needs anything or anyone, it's your job to tell us."

"Stitch will protect Regina."

"We know you will. But try to keep your butt out of her face."

He bares his teeth at her. And then huffs and settles down next to Regina's body, eventually lifting her arm so that he can curl up beneath it.

Emma thinks it just might be the cutest damned thing that she's ever seen.

"Kid?"

"Here," he sighs, handing her his camera phone. "I had no part of this."

"Chickenshit."

"Language, Miss Swan," he says with a chuckle, lifting his eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his typically intimidating and haughty mother.

She centers the shot – getting a dozing Regina and a watchful Stitch in it - snaps the picture and then grins back at him. "Chickenshit," she repeats.

"Maybe so," Henry agrees. "But at least I'll actually live long enough to get to see Stitch get home. If mom sees that pic, I'm not sure that you will."

"Oh ye of little faith," Emma snorts. "Your mom loves me."

"Does she?" Henry asks. "Is there something going on that I don't know about? Do I even need to parent-trap you guys? Are you doing it for me?"

"Oh shut up."

"You keep saying that," he shoots back at her, using the worst accent that she's ever heard. "But I do not think it means what you think it means." He tilts his head, then, looking back at Stitch with a small frown on his pale lips. "If Stitch exists, do you think Inigo Montoya does as well?"

"God, I really hope not," Emma laughs. "Come on, you're on broom duty. I need to call someone to help me get this door back on the bathroom before your mom wakes up and realizes that it wasn't actually a dream. In which case the picture we just took won't actually matter; we will all be dead."

She doesn't miss the way that Stitch crawls even closer to Regina. Whether it's because he has some strange protective thing towards her or because he's thinking that if he were right next to her, she wouldn't possibly hurt him, Emma doesn't know, but yeah, she just has to take one more pic.

Because if she's going to end up dead, anyway, why not have a bit of fun at Regina's expense first? Even Evil Queens have a sense of humor, right?

Oh, but Emma better than anyone else knows differently.

She nods her head at Stitch, and he flops his ears at her.

She thinks of the life she'd had before Storybrooke.

One that hadn't involved an Evil Queen and a furry test tube experiment.

Oh, there are some days she misses the quiet.

But then she looks over at Henry and sees the way that he's smiling at his mother, and even though she's as sick as she has ever been, he's happy because even in the strangeness of all of this, there's a kind of domestic normalcy that makes him feel like this is exactly where he wants to be.

He's happy, and beneath the vicious virus that Regina has, so is she.

And that's enough for Emma.

* * *

Marco comes by about an hour later, and after commenting about how Stitch's cousins are continuing to cause mischief everywhere – apparently one of them stole off with _all_ of Archie's clothing while he'd been in the shower which means he's huddled inside of his apartment right now wearing borrowed clothing from Dr. Whale – he rather happily agrees to assist with putting the bathroom door back on. That is until he actually sees it, and tells mother and son (all the while trying to pretend that he's not in the Queen's bedroom, and he's not seeing her sound asleep on the bed and he's not being growled at by Stitch) that they need a new door completely.

Thankfully, he's more than willing to take care of that for them.

One trip to and from the hardware store, and then he's back in the bedroom with his tools looking awkward because now he has to get loud, and the very last thing in the world he wants is for Regina to find him here.

She's not as frightening as she had once been, and the word around is that she's not using her magic for anything but official town business, but still, she's the Queen and she scares the shit out of him. That and the gentlemen in him simply chafes at the inappropriateness of intruding on her privacy.

The solution, then, is to move Regina downstairs and onto the couch in her office. It's large and comfortable, and both Henry and Emma know that Regina naps on it frequently. It's the whole actually moving her part that's troublesome because no one really wants to try to explain all of this to her.

Luckily for the four of them, Regina is as out cold as she can be, and though she stirs a few times as Emma gently carries her down the stairs (she politely ignores Marco insisting over and over again – as the carpenter blushes and very clearly doesn't want to actually do it – that she shouldn't have to strain herself like this, and that he can certainly lift up the Queen for her), she doesn't awaken, and Emma is able to gently lay her down on the couch and then cover up her still slightly trembling frame with a heavy blanket.

And Stitch, too, of course because the moment she's down, Stitch is back under her arm, the blanket now settled over the both of them.

"Is she doing okay?" Emma asks him.

He nods his head solemnly.

"Who does she remind you of?" Emma queries. She thinks about the movie for a moment, and though it's certainly not a clean fit, she wonders if maybe Stitch is seeing Lilo's older sister in Regina. If he at all sees Lilo in Henry (and that's not really a one hundred percent match, either, but there are enough similarities between Henry and Lilo that it's plausible), then she supposes that it makes some kind of weird sense that he would continue comparing.

"Home," he says softly, his eyes undeniably sad.

"Yeah. I'm going to go work on that now," she assures him. "We're close."

He nods his head and then settles it lightly on Regina's belly, looking sad. Then, though she's absolutely unaware of it, Regina's hand lifts and settles across the back of his neck, her long fingers burrowing into his furry mane.

It's an even better picture than the one from upstairs, but this is one that Emma doesn't dare take. She just smiles and burns it to her own memory.

* * *

It's much later that night when Emma is finally able to return to the house. She'd spent most of the day out and about trying to keep tabs on Stitch's cousins all the while also keeping up to date on the Jefferson situation.

Which is, thankfully, finally improving because apparently Regina had been right, and the only real way to deal with a lunatic hatter is to throw down a few threats. David had finally snapped, and suggested what he could do – it had involved something to do with broken kneecaps and a baseball bat -instead of giving into Jefferson's ridiculous demands, and immediately the portal hopper had surrendered and assured them that he'd work on it.

Weird dude.

Seriously.

But at least she can return to Stitch and tell him with all honesty that they are extremely close now to getting him and his cousins back home.

Which is what she means to do when she steps into the mansion and heads towards Regina's office. But two steps inside, she stops because she sees that Regina has moved into the Living Room with Henry and Stitch.

They're sitting – all three of them – together on the couch. Regina's reclined against a stack of thick pillows. Her legs are thrown over Henry's and covered up by a blanket, and Stitch is slung across the top both of them, his head on his paws as he watches the television. It's the most absurd thing that Emma has ever seen, but it's also wonderfully domestic and lovely.

"Hey," she says softly, unable to stop the smile forming on her lips.

"Hey," Regina says as she looks up. Her eyes are still rimmed red, and she looks like she could pass out at any moment, but she does seem at least a little bit better. Perhaps it's the rest she'd gotten or maybe it's whatever is currently going on here. Whatever it is, Emma more than approves of it.

"Sorry to interrupt, but…are you watching _Lady and the Tramp_?"

"We are. Stitch wanted to watch some movies. But not his own. It was making him homesick." She scratches Stitch's ear when she says this.

"Ah. Right. Well, I have more soup for you and some news for Stitch. We're close. Jefferson is going to try to open the portal up tomorrow at noon."

"You hear that?" Regina says softly to the furry creature atop her. "You could be going home tomorrow. I bet you're more than ready for that."

He nods his head enthusiastically. "Yeah."

She smiles, and if Emma didn't know better, she'd almost think that Regina looks a little bit sad. But then the expression is gone, and Regina is looking back up at Emma with impatience in her eyes. "Well, where's the soup?"

Emma holds the bag carrying the Styrofoam cartons up. "I'll go get spoons."

"Will you be staying for dinner, then?"

"Depends. Are you going to kill me tonight?"

"Did I hallucinate my bathroom door getting ripped off?"

Emma just smiles weakly.

"It's fixed now," Henry states. "Emma took care of it."

"Do I even want to know how?"

"No," Emma, Henry and Stitch all say at once.

"Wonderful. Yes, Sheriff, you can stay. No, I won't kill you tonight." She thinks for a moment, and then smiles in an almost predatory way. "But you do have to do something for me. A show of…good faith as it were."

"You mean besides bringing you soup?"

"Yes." Regina grins again. "After dinner, you have to rub my feet. I find it quite soothing, and well after the day I've had, I could use soothing."

Emma laughs. "I have to rub your feet? Seriously?"

"Seriously," Stitch nods.

"Who asked you?"

"You asked Stitch."

"I did not."

"Did, too."

"Careful," Regina chuckles. "He seems to always win these battles."

"Right. Yeah. Fine, Your Majesty, I will rub your feet. Anything else?"

"That should do it. The spoons are in the drawer next to the dishwasher."

"I know," Emma drawls. She shoots Stitch a narrowed eye glare, and then departs towards the kitchen, shaking her head at the insanity of it all.

"Rub your feet?" Henry asks.

Regina just shrugs her shoulders and smiles. "I'm sick," she reminds him.

"Just promise me," he says softly, "When you feel better and like yourself again, promise me you won't pretend that none of this happened, okay?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I just want you to be happy," Henry replies.

"Me, too," Stitch chimes in.

"Yes, well, both of you can relax, because I'm fine. I've felt better, but I've also felt a lot worse than I do right now." She touches her chest. "Right here, where it matters most, I am happy, Henry. I promise you that I am."

"Spoons," Emma says as she re-enters with four of them and two cartons and a smaller bowl of wonton soup. She hands one of the cartons to Regina, gives the bowl to Stitch, and then sits down on the couch next to Henry and nudges him over so that he's in the middle between his two mothers. She then dutifully pulls Regina's feet up onto her lap. "Shall we eat, then?"

"Eat," Stitch acknowledges, and then shoves his face into the soup.

"I think that was a yes," Henry observes, wrinkling his nose.

"Dig in," Emma says. "And then after dinner, you can have your foot rub."

"Look at that, you can be trained. Good to know that someone in this house can be," She scratches Stitch behind the ear again when she says this.

Emma laughs and puts her spoon in her mouth before she can say anything stupid. But then she sees Henry looking at her. And she sees Stitch watching everything that's going down between she and Regina with keen eyes, and she wonders about the fact that she's sitting on a couch with her son and his other mother, and Regina's legs are slung across all of them, and damned if this doesn't feel so terribly right in a way that should feel so very wrong.

Even considering the fact that a cartoon character is currently muzzle deep in a bowl of wonton soup while _Lady and the Tramp_ is playing on the TV.

So she says the only thing she can, and it's under her breath so that only Henry can hear it. "Shut up," she mumbles.

And he grins and digs into the soup.

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** We now conclude our little tale of Stitch/Regina crackery and SQ sweetness. It was a weird but fun journey, and I hope you enjoyed it as I did. Thanks for all of the kind words along the way.

**Warnings:** Some mild language, comic mischief, lots of flirting.

* * *

She quickly realizes that Emma has good strong powerful hands, and the sheriff uses them well enough to make Regina have to really focus on not moaning out her appreciation as Emma continues to work on the former queen's feet.

Apparently, Stitch also has very useful hands. Or paws in his case.

Which she realizes when it occurs to her that her arches are getting a rub down at the same time that her calves are. When Regina looks down, she sees a very focused Stitch using a balled up furry fist to try to press out some of the strain and tightness in her muscles. Her eyebrow lifts and she looks over at Emma as if to ask if she understands what's going on.

"Well, does it feel good at least?" the sheriff queries with a smirk.

"Indeed. He is quite talented at this," Regina admits. "Perhaps we should offer him a job. The old man who runs the massage parlor currently is well, rather creepy."

"Never been there. Who is he? I mean who was he back in your world? Paul Bunyan?"

"Of course not. I didn't bring Paul over. As for who he is, well I have no idea," Regina rumbles back with a disinterested shrug of her shoulders. She clears her throat a moment later and grimaces at the pain that's swollen her tonsils up. It's much better than it was yesterday or the day before, but well, she's so beyond done with this whole being sick thing.

"Really? You don't know everyone in this town personally."

"I do not. Do you?" Regina fires back.

"I didn't curse everyone here. I'm just the Savior."

"You'd think the Savior would take it upon herself to know everyone."

"He's the Muffin Man," Henry inserts as he reaches for his mug of hot chocolate. He gives his mothers the kind of look meant to show both his exasperation at their never-ending bickering and also his amusement at it.

"Are you serious?" Emma asks, her lip quirked up in disgust. "A baker is giving people full-body massages? That's actually…you're right, Regina, that is kind of creepy."

"The curse did some strange things – oh, yes, right there, Stitch – as it turns out."

"I thought you had complete control over it. As in, you chose who to bring over. So no Paul Bunyan, but yes on the Muffin Man? What kind of sense does that make?"

"The Muffin Man must have been one of your parents' sycophantic supporters. I didn't really care who they were beyond that. As for Paul, well he pretty much hated everyone so there was no reason to make his life any worse."

"Your logic is truly disturbing, I hope you know this." Off Regina's disinterested shrug, Emma chuckles and then pulls her hands away from Regina's foot. "Okay, Stitch, I think we've both more than done our duty by our Queen."

"Very well," Regina sighs. "You're both relieved."

"Why thank you, Your Majesty," the sheriff grins. She then does her best to ignore the way that Henry is rolling his eyes at them. Reluctantly pulling the blanket off of her (and everyone else), Emma stands up and says, "Okay, I'm going to throw another movie on. Stitch, you want to pick it out?"

"Yeah," he says, and then starts to move. He stops abruptly and tilts his head back towards Regina like he's still not sure that he should leave her.

"Pick something good for us," she tells him with a broad slightly dopey grin, scratching just under his chin with the pointed tip of her fingernail. "Something that has a lot of naughty in it."

"Well look at that," Emma notes with the biggest shit-eating grin ever. "I think you might be actually enjoying yourself this evening. Who would have ever thought that possible?"

"I'm with my son," Regina reminds her dryly. "So, yes, course I'm enjoying myself."

"And Emma and Stitch, too," Henry adds in, because he really does find this whole silly dance of theirs rather amusing.

And annoying.

"Yes, well, they both have good hands."

Emma wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, shut up. Not that one, Stitch, Emma killed her and it makes me sad."

Emma tilts her head to look at the DVD in Stitch's paw – SLEEPING BEAUTY.

"When did you get all of these DVDS?" Emma asks, trying to pretend that she doesn't notice the icy glare that Stitch is throwing at her; apparently even former members of Team Evil have issues with killing one of their own.

"Over the years," Regina replies. "I was curious how this world adapted the stories from mine. They're all terribly wrong and simple, of course." She looks over at Stitch and frowns. "Except for his, oddly enough. He's…right."

"Huh. Weird. Maybe this is all just a dream and that's why."

"A nightmare, perhaps."

"So you keep saying. _Despicable Me_?" She asks as Stitch holds up a DVD.

"I bought it for Henry last year," Regina says softly, suddenly looking very serious and somber. "I don't think we ever got the chance to sit down and watch it." Her eyes flicker to Henry for a moment. "It's...it's relevant."

"I've seen it," Henry states. He smiles at her. "I like it. Go ahead, Stitch."

"You heard him," Emma says. "Put it in. Wait, do you know how to work a DVD player?"

Stitch turns towards her, and then jerks his thumb at her and says, "Pretty."

Regina snorts. "Yes, she is."

"That was an insult, wasn't it?"

Regina chuckles. "You know, Sheriff, I think I'm starting to feel better."

"Yeah; you've gone from being kind of a funny jerk to just being a jerk."

"Oh, stop pouting," Regina lightly scolds. "It's unbecoming of a crown princess."

"It is," Henry agrees.

"Well, then, I guess it's a good thing I'm a sheriff and not an actual princess, huh?"

"Whatever you say, dear."

Henry groans. "Would you two chill on the flirting, please? The movie is on."

Regina opens her mouth to protest – to deny that that's what they're doing because it's so absolutely not what they're doing - but then the movie is starting, and Stitch is scrambling back onto the couch and crawling over the top of a sputtering Emma and a bemused Henry. "Shush," Stitch rumbles, and then he nuzzles into Regina's chest.

* * *

"I keep taking you to bed," Emma jokes as she gently slips an arm around the sleepy former queen's waist. Throughout the evening, though Regina's energy levels have been rapidly depleting, her awareness and sense of normal self have seemed to have increased which bodes well, the sheriff believes, for her recovery. Maybe – all teasing aside - Regina is finally on the downhill slope of this nasty little flu thing of her. Emma's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed by this realization.

It has been rather interesting to get to see the more human vulnerable side of her.

And perhaps it's even been nice to be allowed to take care of her just a bit.

"The children are nearby," Regina chastises, her eyebrow lifting upwards.

"As in Henry?"

"And Stitch."

"Stitch is your child now?"

"I didn't say that he was _mine," _Regina retorts_._ "Obviously, he doesn't belong to me." She glances over at the couch where Henry and Stitch are crashed out. Only Stitch isn't actually sleeping; he's sprawled haphazardly across Henry's body, his head on their son's chest, and his big eyes focused on the two women moving towards the stairs. He looks like he's half-asleep, but he's still clearly alert enough to jump up and run towards Regina and Emma if that's what is needed of him.

"Yeah, but I really think you're going to miss Stitch when he's gone," Emma observes quietly, taking in the almost soft expression on Regina's face. "I think even if he is a pain in the ass, you kind of like him."

"You think far too much of my ability to get attached to nuisances, dear."

"Probably," Emma admits. "Now step up unless you want to face-plant."

Regina makes a loud and decidedly undignified grunting noise (especially for her) but shoves her foot forward and up onto the step and then, a moment later, onto the next one above it. Drained doesn't even begin to cover how she feels right now, but at least her head isn't spinning around. She can even somewhat think like a normal sane person again.

Kind of.

Because there's a part of her that believes that if she was fully in her right mind, she wouldn't be allowing Emma so close.

"You think you can try to sleep without any more medication?" Emma asks.

"I suppose, but why should I?"

"Well, because whatever you're taking is making you act a little crazy." She wrinkles her brow. "What are you taking for this, anyway? I'm pretty sure that it's not just NyQuil."

The former queen waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's something Doc gave me. Hmm. I wonder if Snow realizes that her dwarves have a secondary business in cultivating illegal pharmaceuticals," Regina muses.

"Okay and so I'm going to leave that alone," Emma chuckles.

"Don't want to have to arrest one of your mother's favorite tiny men?"

Emma winces. "Not particularly. Either way, can you maybe lay off of it for the rest of tonight? So that you _don't_ act crazy."

"I'm _not_ acting crazy."

"For you? Maybe not. For normal people, yeah, definitely kind of crazy," Emma chuckles. "Which don't get me wrong, has been kind of hilarious, but well, I'd prefer not to worry about you falling out a window."

"Why would I do something like that?"

"Apparently Doc's drugs are that good."

"Yes, well, in any case, I'm not crazy now. Though, you are."

"You do realize that you're arguing with me right now just like you were arguing with Stitch earlier," Emma smirks.

"I am not."

Emma points ahead of them. "Step."

"I'm not an idiot."

"That's pretty much the last thing that I would ever call you, Regina," Emma replies with a soft smile. "But you are still pretty damned sick, and even though you're kind of an asshole when you are, you still need to be –"

"Taken care of?" Regina finishes, eyebrow up in what Emma is certain is meant to be a haughty manner. "Because you couldn't be more wrong if you tried, my dear Sheriff. I've been taking care of myself for a very long time, and if you weren't here right now, I would still be able to get myself up these stairs without any help. Have no doubt of that."

"I don't," Emma nods before she pulls her arm away from where it's been draped around Regina's waist. "So do it."

"What?"

"The last thing that I would I ever want to do, Your Majesty, is stand in the way of your independence. So please, by all means, walk yourself up. I'll just stand here and be...supportive."

"Emma."

"Regina."

"Stitch."

Regina jumps – quite literally _jumps_ – about two feet in the air, her hand slapping against her chest to cover up her hammering heart. And then she reminds herself that she's stolen hundreds of hearts, and she wonders why it is that this little blue devil is so damned good at surprising her in all ways.

"What are you doing up here?" she husks after a moment.

"Stitch sleepy," he yawns without covering his mouth up. "Bedtime."

Emma snorts. "I think he's adopted your bed as his own."

Stitch simply nods his head in agreement, and then he reaches out and takes one of Regina's hands. "Regina needs to sleep, too. Come on."

Doing her best to hide a grin sure to get her killed, Emma says, "He's right."

"Yes, I suppose he is. All right, Miss Swan, you may assist me to my room."

"Really? You're so good to me. First, a forty-five minute foot rub -

"I have tough arches that require a lot of attention," Regina defends.

"Maybe you should wear your heels less."

"I have great legs," Regina snaps back, and then immediately blushes.

So Emma decides to go in for the kill. "Yes, you do," she agrees.

Regina coughs and then mutters, "I clearly need sleep. A lot of it."

"You absolutely do. Stitch, hold her hand. We wouldn't want our Queen to stumble and end up on the floor ass up." She snickers at just the mental image of this and then grins at the sharp look that Regina throws at her. Well, it's meant to be sharp but Regina's energy levels are hitting critically low now and it's more sleepily annoyed than angry.

"Holding," Stitch nods, tightening his grip.

Regina immediately softens. "It's nice to know that one pain in the ass in my life actually knows how to listen every now and again. Good boy, Stitch."

He grins at her with all teeth.

"That pain in the ass is going home tomorrow," Emma reminds her. "And then you're back to just having me and the other awesome people of this town to amuse and torment you."

"Including your idiots parents."

"Yeah, my mother is still upset with you about the goats crack," Emma sighs as they continue up the stairs. Her arm is slung back around Regina again, and they're moving slower to compensate for Regina's lagging energy.

"You have to admit it was kind of funny." There's a slight drunken sounding slur to her voice, indicative of her exhaustion.

"You have a very warped sense of funny," Emma notes as the three of them finally clear the steps and enter the Master Suite together. "Maybe that's why you and He Who Is Currently Sniffing Your Perfume–"

"Stitch, stop doing that," Regina instructs. "Those are very expensive, and I doubt that they taste very good."

"Apples," he says.

"Yes, but that's just a smell. My perfume doesn't actually taste like apples."

Reluctantly, he backs away from her perfume, but not before tossing her a disappointed look.

"Get along so well," Emma concludes.

"Yes, well, we are both deeply misunderstood."

"Sure, you are. Uh, did you want to change clothes? You've been in those all day. Or maybe a shower before bed?"

Regina casts a look over at the bathroom. Yes, she would love to take a long shower, but her legs are wobbly and the more tired she gets, the less strong she feels which indicates to her that she could have a rather rough go of it.

Then again, when doesn't she?

"I can help," Emma says softly, the teasing leaving her voice. Her eyes flicker up towards Regina's, and it's a deeply charged moment where they both feel like more is happening than either of them actually realizes.

But then: "So can Stitch." And there's that massive toothy grin again.

It's almost creepy in enthusiasm, but he's so happy and so Emma laughs, and then Regina allows herself to do so as well.

"No," Regina says after the moment of mirth passes (she feels a bit light headed but she's not about to tell anyone). "I'll just change, and shower in the morning. It's late, and Stitch here has a very long day ahead of him."

"Going home," he says, hopping up and down on his furry feet.

"That's right," Regina replies, her voice suddenly so very gentle and understanding. It's almost amazing for Emma to watch this; she couldn't tear her eyes away if she wanted to. And she doesn't want to. She watches with a small smile on her face as Regina bends down so that she's kneeling in front of Stitch.

"Lilo needs me," he tells her, looking for just a moment like he might start crying. "I miss Lilo. I miss my family."

"I know you do, and I'm certain that they miss you, too," Regina comments, reaching out to lift up his chin, her perfectly manicured fingers resting lightly below his fuzzy muzzle. "And tomorrow, you will all be back together again. But in order to get to tomorrow, Stitch, we need to go to sleep. You think we can do that?" She smiles brightly at him, her eyes glistening.

He nods his head. "We can do that."

"Good. Then go brush your teeth and let's get ready for bed. Oh, and Stitch? Use the toothbrush that you used yesterday and not my new one, please?" she asks of him, gesturing towards the en-suite bathroom.

"Yeah," he agrees, and then heads towards the room that he'd ripped the door off of just a few hours ago.

Looks good as new, Emma muses.

"Miss Swan?" Regina says, pulling her attention back. "Where are you?"

"I'm here. Sorry. I was just…thinking."

"Dare I ask what about?"

"Doors and Stitch and family and you."

"Oh? Care to tell me how all those things go together?"

"You'd be surprised – I think – just how well all of those things go together in my head." Then, because she just needs to say what she's never said before, she blurts out, "You're really pretty good with kids, aren't you?"

"Experience gives you practice."

"Yeah? So maybe one day I'll figure all of this out and be as good of a mom as you are?" she's smiling, but there's some honesty beneath her words. Maybe even some fear and worry that she never will be good enough for their son.

"You're already a good mother, Emma. Henry loves you dearly."

"Is that enough."

"I think so."

"Wow; times really do change don't they," the sheriff replies, shifting her feet like she's almost uncomfortable with the serious nature of their conversation. "You never would have said that to me before."

"Times have changed, but maybe we've changed, too. At least, I hope that I have."

"You know, I think I really do like you when you're sick."

Regina chuckles. "Thinking about trying to take advantage of me, are you?" She steps close to Emma, close enough that Emma can, in fact, smell the slight residue of apple scented perfume. Enough so that she has the insane thought about whether or not Regina is wrong and she actually does taste like apples, too. "Are you, Sheriff? Is that what this is about?"

Emma freezes, her eyes wide as she tries to work her tongue around an acceptable answer that doesn't sound like a rejection, but also doesn't apply pressure on a woman who clearly isn't quite herself at the moment.

"All done," Stitch calls out as he re-enters the room, flashing his teeth.

"Saved by the alien," Emma mutters.

"Indeed. Goodnight, Miss Swan."

"Emma," she corrects softly. "I gave you a foot rub."

"I expect that now you want a kiss as payment?" Regina queries, her eyebrow lifted and her hands settled lightly on her hips in a manner that makes Emma think about the power and dominance and unmistakable seduction of a Queen.

"Uh –"

"Very well. Stitch?"

Emma doesn't have time to think or react because suddenly Stitch is doing a vertical leap up and he's licking her face like a dog would, and there's so much saliva that she's pretty sure she can taste it, but all she hears is Regina laughing her fool head off and Stitch is beaming up at her like he did good.

So the sheriff groans.

"I'll see both of you lunatics in the morning," Emma says. And then, she turns and just about flees the room because they're both looking at her like they see right through her and maybe even into her, and that's just crazy.

All of this is crazy.

The funny thing is, the least crazy part of all of this is Stitch.

She kisses Henry on the top of the head, covers him up with a blanket, and then leaves the house, using the key that her son had given her long ago to lock the door behind her. And once she's outside and in the cold, she sighs.

Emma thinks that maybe what she's feeling right now is relief.

Relief because she's away from the temptation to fall into something that she knows would be messy and loaded down with emotional landmines.

But maybe it also feels a bit like disappointment because she's denying herself a chance at something that could be fantastic and worthwhile and –

Oh, hell.

Yeah, Emma realizes as she climbs into her icy cold bug, she has a problem.

And as usual, its name is Regina Mills.

* * *

Regina feels slightly better come morning; her head is achy, but it's swimming less and her nose has finally stopped running. Her stomach is still a bit unsettled and she remains dead tired, but this is still progress.

"Mom," Henry says as he steps into her bedroom. "Emma just called."

"They're ready to open the portal, I presume?" she asks as she turns to face him. She's still in her robe, and her hair is everywhere, but he's her son and he's seen her look like this a hundred times already so she thinks little of it.

"In about an hour. You going to be okay with this?"

"Sending Stitch back?"

"Yeah. You guys have kind of bonded."

"It's time for him to go back to his own home and family," she says softly. Then she frowns as she notices the absence of her usual furry blue shadow, "Speaking of Stitch, where is he? Tell me you didn't leave him in the kitchen alone."

"I…"

"Oh, Henry."

"Don't worry; I'll go check on him. He wanted to make you breakfast."

"You made me breakfast years ago," Regina states. "When you were about five." She smiles wistfully at this before her face morphs into something that looks like bemused horror. "You almost burned our house down."

Henry makes a face. "Sorry about that."

"Do you even remember it?"

"No," Henry admits somewhat sadly. "But I can make you breakfast tomorrow to make up for it." He punctuates his offer with a hopeful smile and an adorably nervous shuffling of his feet.

"I would like that."

"Me, too."

"But for now, my sweet prince? I'm going to get showered and dressed, and you're going to ensure that we don't need to call the fire department."

"On it," he assures her. Then, with another smile, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Mom. And I'm really happy that you and Emma are getting along."

"Are we now?"

"You are. We all are. No matter what happens, it feels like family and I really like that," he says, and then turns and leaves her alone to her thoughts.

"We are getting along," she repeats to herself. "Dear Lord, we are."

* * *

Stitch is wearing the cooking apron again, but this time he's added a chef's hat that he'd found in the back of a drawer. He's covered almost head to foot in bright white flour – God only knows why considering he's trying to make pancakes using Bisquick mix with his bare paws – but he looks like he's having a complete blast making a catastrophic mess.

And Henry, well he's just watching from one of the stools.

Because Stitch isn't currently burning down the house.

Just the pancakes judging by the stacks (and there are at least half a dozen of them) of charred to a blackened crisp ones that are thrown all over all of the usually impeccably clean counters. Apparently, Stitch can figure out how to mix batter, but he can't figure out how to cook pancakes up on the grill.

"Stitch made breakfast!" he announces proudly when Regina enters the kitchen, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. "Pancakes. With syrup!"

"He tried the syrup," Henry tells her. "He liked it. Maybe a little too much."

"Maple," Stitch nods. And then holds up the bottle, tips it back to his mouth and takes a deep swig from it, sticky brown liquid getting on his muzzle.

"Stitch," Regina scolds. "Stop that this moment. That's far too much sugar."

He tilts his head, shrugs then brings the bottle to his mouth and obediently vomits the now very warm syrup that he'd consumed back into it.

"I'm not using that," Henry states, his lip curling in disgust.

"No," Regina agrees. "Stitch, put that down."

"Fine," he grumbles before dropping the bottle into the sink. It makes a loud crashing sound and Regina just knows that she's going to be spending most of her afternoon picking glass out of the drain. Still, she chooses to not overreact because really, what would be the point of flipping out at this?

"Henry, go set the table," she sighs. "I'll…try to salvage the pancakes."

"Pancakes good," Stitch insists, looking like she'd just kicked him.

"I'm sure that they're excellent, dear," Regina replies, and she wonders if she really has changed so very much that she actually cares about whether or not she's hurting the feelings of a furry blue space experiment. She does, though, and so she gentles her voice and smiles at him. "But they're missing a few ingredients to make them fantastic. So what don't we add then, hm?"

He narrows his eyes at her, and she's suddenly reminded that while Stitch so often comes off as a rambunctious child, he's not one. He was created for destruction and chaos, and yes, as Emma had rather annoyingly pointed out, found his better self through love and family. He's smart and he knows when he's being placated, and the look he's giving her right suggests that he doesn't appreciate it one bit. "Stitch make pancakes," he states.

She puts her hands on her hips. "No. Stitch will not. Regina will."

Okay, so maybe she'd slipped herself one more tablet of the medication.

Just to ensure that this illness – fading, though it is – doesn't find a way to creep back up on her and make her crawl back to the bathroom again.

Unfortunately, the drugs really do make her rather goofy in the head.

Apparently, they also make her willing to argue with houseguests who just want to make her a nice breakfast of burnt to a crisp pancakes. "You are going to go sit down and wait for breakfast," she states. "Now go."

"No," he repeats. "Stitch will not go."

"You will. Go," she orders, pointing towards the table. Henry is standing over by it with a plate, watching their interaction with wide amused eyes, looking like he can't figure out whether or not he should intervene on this.

"Make me," Stitch taunts.

"Mom," Henry says immediately.

"Did you hear what he said to me?"

"I said 'make me'," Stitch repeats before jumping up on the counter. He then scampers towards the burnt pancakes on the counter, picks a handful of them up and shoves them into his mouth. Before grinning at her.

"Why you little –"

"Mom, he's just trying to antagonize you," Henry states. "Stitch, stop."

Stitch turns towards to Henry, mouth still full of charred pancakes, and then gestures at Regina wildly, "She's being mean," he garbles out.

"I am not being mean! I am trying to fix breakfast. Which you ruined!"

His ears droop suddenly, and then he's pouting. "Stitch ruined breakfast."

She feels a bit like she just kicked a dog.

She sighs. "Oh, Stitch."

"Stitch wanted to do a good thing," he says, his mouth opening and half-chewed pancake dropping onto the sink. In the interest of not continuing the fight or upsetting Stitch even more, Regina pretends to ignore it.

Henry, on the other hand, looks like he'd just seen his first naked girl.

"And you did," she tells him, tentatively stepping towards him. "Which I appreciate so very much. But Stitch, I like my pancakes a little less burnt."

"Okay," he grumbles.

"Good. Now jump off the counter, and go sit down. I'll make us another batch of pancakes, and then we can head over to City Hall. It's almost time."

"To go home?

"To Lilo," she confirms, and then lightly touches him on the head. "Please?"

He nods his head, and then jumps down and makes his way over to the dining room table. He pulls himself up on the chair and sits there, like it's completely normal for a creature that most people would consider to be the family dog to be sitting at the table. It's strange and unsettling, but well, Stitch isn't any kind of normal, and Regina actually likes that about him.

So he gets to stay at the table.

She figures she can blame the medication for making her do strange things.

And Henry, well he really should close his mouth before something flies into it.

* * *

Emma is waiting with her parents, Jefferson and Leroy at City Hall when Regina, Henry and Stitch finally arrive. There are a few crates near them, each of them containing at least one of Stitch's less than amused cousins.

They don't seem to be as happy as Stitch is about going home.

"Hey," Emma greets, frowning at the exhaustion she can still plainly see. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well," Regina nods, her tone cool and her shoulders stiff. Whatever is or isn't going on between she and the sheriff, she's not about to show it off in front of anyone else in this made-up town. Especially her insipid parents.

Or Jefferson.

"All right," Emma says, frowning at Regina's tone. "Well, we're about ready to get started here. Once the portal opens, we'll have a short amount of time to get everyone in so if you want to say goodbye to Stitch, do it now."

"Right. Henry?"

"Yeah, okay." Henry steps towards Stitch, kneels down and then holds out his hand. "I'm going to miss you," he says. "We've had fun."

Stitch nods. "Fun."

"I have something for you to remember us by," Henry tells him. He looks over at Emma, and she nods her head and comes over to him. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a 5x8 photograph. He takes it from her and then shows it to Stitch, pointing to the people in it – Regina, Emma, Stitch and Henry. "I took this last night while you and mom were sleeping during the movie." And indeed, the photo shows Stitch and Regina slumbering together. It's a selfie kind of shot so the angle is strange and a bit awkward, but it's still easy enough to make out everyone.

"Mine?"

"Yours."

"Ohana," Stitch whispers and pulls the picture to his chest.

"Ohana," Emma confirms.

Stitch nods his head thoughtfully, and then steps away from Henry and Emma and makes his way over to where Regina is standing. When he gets to her, he tugs on the sleeve of her jacket, encouraging her to kneel down and speak to him eye to eye. He shows her the picture and points to them in it. "No one gets forgotten."

She swallows hard. "No," she agrees. "Not forgotten."

"We have one for you, too," Emma murmurs from beside her.

She nods her gratitude. "I won't forget you," she tells him.

Stitch sniffles loudly and it's weird, but it makes her eyes water, and then he steps forward and throws his furry arms around her waist. She pauses for the briefest of moments, and then returns the hug, closing her dark eyes.

"Your Lilo is a very lucky girl," she says.

"Stitch lucky," he replies.

"I know the feeling." She allows the emotion of the moment to warm her heart for a few seconds before she wipes her hand past her watery eyes and then husks out," All right, enough of this; you're making my mascara run."

He steps away from her, then pulls the picture back towards his chest and looks over at Emma. "Stitch ready to go home now," he tells her.

"Okay," Emma agrees. "As soon as the portal opens, we'll unlock the crates and then it's up to you to get everyone in."

"Understood."

"Jefferson, you're up."

"Whatever," the petulant hatter mutters. He glares over at David just for show and then throws his hat down onto the ground and gives it a hard spin. Almost immediately, purple energy starts to surround it, and then it suddenly swells and explodes open, a portal appearing inside of it.

"Now!" Emma yells at Stitch over the sound of air and wind moving quickly. Behind her, she sees her parents and Leroy popping the crates open.

Stitch looks back at Regina once more. "You're part of Stitch's Ohana now."

"You're part of mine now, too."

He grins at her, and then turns and rushes towards his cousins who are now making their way out of their crates, each of them looking a bit confused.

"Follow," he says to them. Immediately, they fall in step behind him and he leads them towards the portal, his ears flopping around in the wind. And then with all of the glee of a young child, he screams out, "Cowabunga!"

The portal snaps shut a few moments later – with Stitch and off his cousins somewhere within the hat, presumably on their way home – and then all there is left is the kind of weird silence that almost always follows chaos.

"Well that was fun," Emma finally says.

"I guess all that's left to do is clean up now," David sighs.

"Yes, well, have fun with that," Regina replies.

"You're not going to help?" Mary Margaret asks, an eyebrow up. She doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

"Do I look like a peasant, dear?"

"Hey," David protests.

Regina grins. "Oh, I didn't say your wife did, Charming. I think you're…well, you may have to actually go in search of the –"

"Okay, well that's probably enough of that," Emma interrupts, exasperation clear in her wide green eyes. "Don't worry, Regina, we've got this covered. You should probably go home and try to sleep off the rest of your attitude."

"And you should probably attempt to do your job, Sheriff. If that so happens to involve locking our local lunatic back up into his house until he's need again –"

"Me?" Jefferson protests. "You're the sociopath who –"

"Just stop," Emma sighs. "Go home, Regina. Take less of Doc's illegal drugs, and try to get some sleep so you'll be nicer. If you even have that mode."

"She doesn't," Jefferson grumbles.

"Shut up," David says. Then to Emma, "I'll take him back to this place."

"This is police brutality," the hatter snarls as David's hand settles around his forearm, and the once-prince starts to yank him towards a squad car.

"You still have your fingers," Emma reminds him.

"She's a bad influence on you," Jefferson yells at her. "You may think you're different, but being friends with the Queen always end up badly. Trust me."

Emma just rolls her eyes. To her son, she says, "Henry?"

"Yeah, I know; I'll get her back to bed."

"I don't need –"

"Thanks, kid," Emma interrupts. Then, she turns away from Regina and from Jefferson and focuses on her mother and Leroy. Anything that will help her not think about all of the crazy thoughts about Regina that are going around in her head.

When the former queen leaves with Henry a moment later, she pretends not to watch her go.

* * *

"You didn't have to come by to check on us," Regina says when she opens the front door to the house to reveal a shivering and wet Emma Swan. It's raining heavily outside, and Emma looks a bit like a pathetic drowned rat.

"I know."

"You're soaking wet."

"I know," Emma chuckles.

"Would you like to come in?" She steps back and gestures inwards. "I have a fire going."

"I would like to come in, but to be honest, what I'd really like is to go home and sleep," Emma admits.

"All right, then why are you here instead of there?"

"Because I did want to check up on you two," Emma allows with a sheepish shrug. "You weren't looking great earlier and –"

"Some advice, dear: informing the woman that you've been flirting with – especially when she's a Queen – that she ever looks less than great is…well it's a questionable approach at best," Regina tells her with a smirk.

"Yeah," Emma sighs. "It's been a long day. Stitch may have been good overall, but his cousins were real assholes."

"I'm sorry for leaving you to handle it all."

"Oh, you're not off the hook. There's a whole new stack of rather colorful property damage reports on your desk."

"Wonderful. Emma, why are you here? A call to Henry would have sufficed if all you wanted to do was check in on us."

"Are you feeling better?" she asks.

"A little," Regina replies. "I've slept most of the afternoon."

"Good. You miss Stitch?"

"I do. Henry wants me to get a puppy from the shelter. He thinks that having an animal around will be good for me."

"He might be right. Do you get the picture I sent over?"

"I did, thank you. And yes, I'll consider the puppy. Would you like me to get Henry so you can say goodnight."

"No, I'll text him it. I actually did come by to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to kiss you goodnight."

Regina blinks. "What?"

"Like you said, we've been flirting with each other –"

"I said that you'd been flirting with me."

"Same difference."

"Not quite, but do go on."

"I've just been thinking all day about how easy it is to lose the people you care about. What if we hadn't been able to get Stitch home? He would have lost his family forever. And yeah, he would have had a new family, but something inside of him would have always been –"

Her words are cut off by the soft touch of lips against hers. The kiss is gentle, chaste, oddly sweet and rather tender especially considering that the person kissing her is a former Evil Queen. It's also quite amazing.

When Regina separates from Emma, her eyes are blown wide and she looks bewildered, but not displeased. Which is good considered that she'd initiated the kiss. "Goodnight, Emma," Regina husks. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Emma smiles. "You will. Goodnight."

She turns on her heels and head back down the walk towards her car.

"That is assuming you didn't just catch my…whatever it is I have," Regina calls after her, unable to hide the wicked smirk covering up her lips.

"Well, if I did catch it," Emma replies, her back still to Regina, "I guess then it'll be your turn to take care of me, now won't it, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, I suppose I will."

Emma allows herself a small grin, and then continues the walk to her car.

All the while pretending not to notice that this time, it's Regina who is watching her.

**-FIN**


End file.
